Guardian Angel
by HoVis
Summary: Malcolm Reed loses his life during a mission to try and infiltrate Xindi intelligence. His friends think he is gone forever. But life, and death, have ways of playing tricks on you. Complete!
1. Chapter One: Reflections and Regrets

A/N: Hello, one and all. I have recently been reading _The Wish List_ by Eoin Colfer and it set off a few "plot bunnies" hopping around my head. This is possibly one of the most complicated and multi-layered stories I have ever come up with. Not that that's saying much, but anyway! This story _will_ include a character death, but it won't be depressing. It may be angsty, it may deal with some fairly "deep" issues, but it will have a happy ending… but not of the clichéd, "_living_ happy ever after" sort. I will hopefully deal with the difficult issue of death, the afterlife, and what lies between. I apologise if, in bringing in some of my own beliefs, I insult anyone of another faith. This _isn't_ going to be a story on religion, and I will never attempt to bring in any religious ideas, just my own musings on the subject of heaven and hell. If you enjoy the story, please tell me, and if you didn't please tell me why not, and I will do my best to make it better. 

Summary: Malcolm Reed is sent on a dangerous mission deep in the Expanse, to recover information about a possible Xindi military operation deep within an asteroid belt. The mission is fairly straight forward: go in under the cloak of the stolen Suliban cell ship, and come out with barely a scratch, and all the information needed to help unravel the mysteries of the Xindi. Except things don't always go according to plan, and a terrible tragedy occurs, leaving Enterprise grieving for their most loyal crewman. Except what they don't realise is that whilst they have lost a person they care about, they have gained a guardian angel. Malcolm Reed is torn between two paths: to stay with those he cares about until the ending of time, or to take a chance to see what truly lies behind that celestial barrier. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I haven't even seen Season Three yet, which explains all the odd discrepancies that may crop up in this story. It is set just after _The Expanse_.

Chapter One

Malcolm Reed eyed the alien shuttle dubiously as he entered the shuttle bay. He glanced at Trip anxiously, noting the slightly worried expression on his friend's face. 

"Are you sure this thing won't blow up on me as soon as I get her out of the airlock?" He asked, and his friend grinned nervously. 

"Course not! Tough as old nails, this one." Trip replied heartily. A little too heartily, Malcolm thought. 

"Trip?" The engineer glanced up from the padd he was poring over. 

"Mmm?" The Brit frowned. Something was definitely up.

"Is there… something that you're not telling me, Trip?" He said suspiciously, as they strode over to the battered old craft. It was the Suliban cell ship, the one stolen from the distinctly hostile aliens after their occupation of the Enterprise a year or so ago. Trip glanced nervously from the ship, and back to Malcolm. The craft had taken something of a battering in the past few months, and Malcolm was none too eager to take to its helm. He had no choice, however. Orders were, after all, orders. But that didn't mean he had to like them.

"The thing ya need to know, Malcolm…" Trip began uncertainly, and Malcolm sighed, leaning against a bulkhead for support.

"I knew it." He stated simply. He sighed once more. "Go on. I'm ready." Trip gave him a puppy-dog look.

"Malcolm, _I_ don't want you to have to go out there in that bunch of creaking bulkheads, ya know. I _told_ Jon, he shouldn' be makin' ya do this, but - " Malcolm gave his friend a dangerous glare, usually reserved for the most despicable of enemies. 

"Trip." He said, his tone low and serious. "Just tell me." The engineer hesitated, before quickly explaining after a quick glare from Malcolm. 

"Ok. But don' say I didn' warn ya." Trip took a deep breath. "The last attack on Enterprise caused a flare-up in the main power grid. We were conducting experiments on the cell-ship when the blast hit…" 

"Don't tell me." Malcolm breathed, realisation dawning across his face. "You had the cell-ship connected to the impulse engines, am I right?" Trip nodded heavily. 

"Spot on. It screwed right bad with the engines, cloak, shields, everything." Malcolm closed his eyes in exasperation.

"And when were you and the captain intending to tell me this, then Trip?" He asked his eyes narrowed. Trip gave a helpless shrug. 

"The cap'n though' it was better not to tell ya, he didn' want ta worry ya..." Trip trailed off, catching sight of the thunderous expression on his friend's face. "I'm sorry." He said quietly, and Malcolm shrugged, not meeting his eyes. 

"We'd better get ready then." He muttered, determination lighting in his harsh grey eyes. Trip gaped at him.

"You cannot be serious!" He exclaimed in disbelief. "You really intend to fly that thing, after all I've just told you?" Malcolm glared at him, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

"What do you expect me to do, disobey a direct order?" Trip remained silent. He felt guilty, guilty for deceiving his friend. He knew that Jon had his reasons for not telling Malcolm about the slight discrepancies in the cell-ships main functions - where he was going, Malcolm would need all eyes on the job at hand. No distractions. They were only small malfunctions, after all. 

Then why was he feeling so worried about the upcoming mission? Why were alarm bells going off in his head, when he had personally checked, and passed the cell ship for controlled flight? And why was he desperately hoping that Malcolm would back out of the mission completely? _You're just worried about him, that's all_. Trip assured himself. Malcolm was, after all, the closest friend he had on Enterprise, apart from Jon, and he was usually far too busy with his work to have any time for Trip in any capacity apart from that as chief engineer. Trip knew that it was dangerous, forming such close bonds with someone on such a dangerous mission. He cared for Malcolm as a brother, he wasn't ashamed to admit. He knew that if anything happened to the armoury officer he would be just as grief stricken as he had been when Lizzie had died. _Don't think like that, Charles!_ He thought furiously to himself. Even now, months after he had learnt of his sister's death, he still had nightmares about her, and the way she had died. He wanted revenge on the people who had killed her, and all those other millions of innocent people. _Which is what this mission is all about, so stop agonising, you fool._ He chided himself. Malcolm's mission was simple; to take the Suliban cell ship, cloaked, obviously, into a heavily guarded asteroid belt which T'Pol believed to be a secret military base for the Xindi, and get as much information about it as he could. Simple. No silly risks. Malcolm would only be gone a few days. So why did it feel as though they were saying goodbye forever?

*

Malcolm took a deep breath as he entered the cell-ship. He tapped the intercom for the bridge.

"Ready when you are, captain." He said, forcing down the hot bubble of anger which was threatening to explode within him. Malcolm understood why Archer had chosen not to tell him about the faults with the Suliban cell ship, but that didn't stop him being angry with the captain. He realised that the flaws were only tiny ones, and that telling him about them would only cause fatal distraction. But that didn't stop him being angry at the captain for trying to play God with his life. 

"Very well. Good luck, Malcolm." Malcolm nodded, before realising how pointless it was when the captain couldn't see him. The ability to speak seemed to have failed him. He had felt nerves like this before, on training missions and the such, but he had never felt nerves like he was experiencing now. Perhaps it was because of the huge risk element involved, or maybe it was the fact that so much was depending on the information he was bringing back. Whatever it was, Malcolm Reed was, for perhaps the first time in his life, truly scared. 

"Thankyou sir." He managed to choke out. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. For a moment he was torn between two minds – one, the wish that he could be anywhere but within the claustrophobic craft, and the other, overpowering realisation that he would never allow any other member of the Enterprise crew to put their lives at risk in such a way. "See you in three days." He said finally, half to himself. He _would_ return. It would take more than a few asteroids to defeat Malcolm Stuart Reed.

*

"Good luck, Malcolm." Jonathon Archer murmured beneath his breath as he watched, on the viewscreen, the tiny cell ship drop from the underbelly of the ship, drift briefly in space for a moment, before disappearing. His insides writhed with guilt as he turned away from the screen.

"You have the bridge, T'Pol." He managed to choke out, before turning his back on the bridge and striding as fast as he could into his ready room. He sat down, and with a heavy sigh, returned to the pile of "paper" work which had been piling up on his desk for the past few months. He tried to concentrate on the work, but his mind kept wandering back to his armoury officer, who was at this very moment somewhere a few light years from Enterprise, alone in the dark expanse of space. Alone. 

Jon shivered, trying to block out the pessimistic visions which were clawing their way through his consciousness. Malcolm, lying as though dead after the Shuttle Pod incident barely two years ago, Malcolm, ready to give his life for his friends and crew out on the hull of the ship, Malcolm, ready to risk his life in deep space, all for Enterprise and her mission… Archer closed his eyes in despair. He cared for Malcolm, he cared for every single member of his crew. But Malcolm Reed was a character to beat all. He was quiet, reserved, yet quirky and unpredictable in his own way. He was an enigma, both to Archer and to most of the crew. He never spoke out of turn, even when someone truly deserved it. Archer had heard it, earlier, on the bridge, knew that Malcolm had discovered the flaws in the cell-ship, but had still held his tongue. Archer knew how angry his officer must have felt, even though he would understand at the same time that it had been vital to the success of the mission that there were no distractions, nothing to draw his attention from the mission at hand. It had been necessary. Vital, even. A matter of life or death. Then why did Archer feel as though he had just signed his officer's death warrant?

*

A/N: All reviews are greatly appreciated. 


	2. Chapter Two: A Chance to Say Goodbye

A/N: Hello everybody! Ok, just a few responses to my lovely reviewers:

KaliedoscopeCat: Thanks, I get your point about the warning thing, but I'm not quite sure how to introduce it _without_ mentioning the fact that someone dies, and without mentioning dear old Malcolm. Help! 

Reedie: Thanks! I promise, it will be a happy ending… but I'll probably still cry writing it. It's more of a not-sad ending than a really happy one. I mean, Malcolm isn't going to come back to life or anything. 

soultoast: Intriguing, you say? I like the sound of that… 

jani: Sorry, I'm not that good at updating quick, especially as this is an extremely long chapter for me!

Jazzy: Thanks, and I promise, I _will_ finish this. Whether it be before the end of the next century has yet to be seen… lol. 

loz_5us: Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou! I will be continuing in the same sort of vein… ya know, peoples thoughts and feelings and all that.

cillian4: Thanks, and yes, there is more. *coughs*. A lot more… lol. 

Sorry if I've forgotten anyone!

So… onto chapter two. This is perhaps one of the longest chapters I've ever written on ff.net, but I couldn't seem to be able to stop typing! Like the opposite of writer's block really… too _many_ ideas! LOL. Anyway, this chapter is a bit weird, a bit spooky. A lot of inspiration drawn from Eoin Colfer's _The Wish List_. Hope I don't confuse ya too much! I have also written in a sort of secondary plot, you know, something else going in which is in the background to the main storyline… yeah, I'm confusing myself too!

So, we left Malcolm in the middle of an asteroid field on the search for an undercover Xindi military operation. What will he find? And how will he – and the people he cares about – be able to cope with the sudden and frightening circumstances which are threatening to engulf them? 

Disclaimer: I own nothing whatsoever, so don't sue. I haven't seen any of the episodes after The Expanse, so don't flame for any weird discrepancies. And don't try to help me correct them by telling me what happens! So… on with the fic. I would say "enjoy", but it's not exactly that kinda story…

Chapter Two

Malcolm Reed shivered slightly as he gently manoeuvred the cloaked cell ship through the chaos of the asteroids. He bit his lip to keep himself from crying out in fear as he stared down at the monstrosity before him. _An atom bomb._ His mind was numb with disbelief. He had heard the stories of Hiroshima, of course, as a child, but the stories could never quite get across the true horror of what it must have been like. It had been distant history for him and his friends, sitting in a brightly-lit classroom. Here, in the dark, un-loving vacuum of space, it was all too close. _How? How can someone hate another race so much they want to annihilate them in such a way? _Malcolm hadn't understood it as a young boy, and he didn't understand it now. He wouldn't have believed it himself had it not been right in front of him. And even now he was filled with numb disbelief. _If they succeed – if they manage to get this weapon undetected into our Solar System - _Malcolm shook himself. He couldn't think about that. It was too big for him, too overpowering. He glanced anxiously at the monitor telling him how far he was from Enterprise – still out of communications range. Malcolm swore. His body was on auto-pilot by this time, too full of thoughts of the horror he had just witnessed being prepared to worry about anything else. Dazedly, he turned the cell ship around, and headed back the way he had come, pausing for only a moment to check that all the scans were complete. He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. _Keep your mind on the job now, son._ The part of his mind which spoke to him in his father's voice told him sternly, and he clenched his teeth angrily. 

"I _am_ keeping my mind on the job!" He said hotly, before catching himself. _First sign of madness, that, talking to an empty pod._ Malcolm giggled slightly to himself, before grabbing a bottle of water from a shelf beside the controls. He was getting dehydrated. And probably suffering a little from lack of human company. _Keep your mind on the job. You want to live, don't you?_ He told himself again, his sweaty hands slipping slightly on the joystick which Trip had modified for the cell ship. _"Easier to do sharp degree turns wi' one o' these, ya know. Jus' another thing to try and keep you alive out there."_ His friend had told him, his blue eyes filled with concern. Malcolm shook himself again. _There you go again, daydreaming!_ He rebuked himself in annoyance, but it didn't last long. Things like this do tend to be pushed to back of one's mind when two heavily armed warships decloak barely a kilometre off one's port bow. 

*

Hoshi jumped in shock as an alarm went off at her panel. She glanced quickly at the readout.

"Oh, no." She murmured. "Sir!" She said, louder this time. Archer was at her side in a flash.

"What is it Hoshi, what's wrong?" He asked quickly, and Hoshi realised by the look in his eyes that she wasn't the only one who was concerned about Malcolm, alone somewhere in the midst of the asteroids. 

"Sir, I'm receiving a mayday call… it's the cell ship." Archer stepped back in shock, but quickly regained his composure.

"Can you triangulate its position?" He asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly. Hoshi frowned as her hands flew across the keys. She shook her head.

"Negative Captain, the signal is extremely weak – only just in range, I'd guess." Archer made a split-second decision. The life of his officer, or the success of the mission? There was no competition. Jon would have rather faced a hundred court martials than have a man's life on his conscience. He turned to his science officer.

"T'Pol, I want you to run a level two scan for any sign of weapons fire inside that asteroid belt, and I want it done fast." T'Pol gazed at him coolly, one eyebrow raised. 

"Captain, you are making an illogical decision based on your emotions - " Jon glared at her.

"T'Pol, I will not give up on one of my officer's that easily. Understood?" T'Pol nodded slowly, clearly hesitant. Jon turned away. He had no time for T'Pol's "logic" just now. 

"Trip." He shot his friend a look. Trip was manning the tactical station. "Charge up weapons. Time to test those new torpedoes." Trip nodded.

"Already online, sir. Malcolm's "tactical alert" took care of that." Archer nodded. Typical Malcolm, leaving nothing to chance. He turned back to the viewscreen, trying not to think about what might be happening inside the asteroid field. 

"Set a course, Travis." The helmsman nodded, subdued. The air was thick with tension. Jon took a deep breath. Jonathon Archer was not the type to give up on anything, especially not a member of his crew. 

*

Back in the asteroid field, all hell was breaking loose. Malcolm tried to charge weapons, only to find that they had been taken offline to accommodate for the energy-draining cloak. He groaned. He remembered now, Trip telling him that the weapons would draw too much energy away from the cloak. This had meant to be a stealth operation, not a fire fight. 

"How the hell did they know I was here?" Malcolm muttered through clenched teeth. And he was sure that they did know he was there – the surest hint was the beam of concentrated energy flashing towards his bow. Malcolm tried to power up the shields, only to find that they had been knocked out over an hour ago when he had accidentally scraped a piece of rock jutting from an extremely nasty asteroid. Malcolm swore. Nothing to do except hold on. Which he promptly did, for all the good it did him. He was thrown around the tiny cockpit like a rowing boat in a stormy ocean. Malcolm groaned as he righted himself, blood streaming from a battered nose. Suddenly the comm crackled to life and a very welcome voice filtered over the speakers.

"_Enterprise_ to pod three, please respond. Malcolm, do you read?" Malcolm could have cried with delight. He must have only just been in range when he'd sent out the "message in a bottle" distress signal. It was a stroke of luck greater than he could have ever hoped for that _Enterprise_ had picked it up. 

"I read you Hoshi." He swallowed, glancing nervously at the readout on the monitor before him. He guessed that the pod would only last about three more charges before it gave up and headed, with Malcolm in it, into the oblivion. "I've got two hostiles coming up on my port bow. I have no shields, and no weapons." He heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end and knew it was the captain. 

"Hold in there Malcolm. We're coming in to get you." Malcolm swallowed. He'd been expecting this, and knew that he couldn't let it happen. 

"No sir. I can't let you do that." He took a deep breath, took another glance at the two warships, which were for the moment blessedly still and silent, and hurriedly continued. "They're building a weapon, sir. An atomic bomb, large enough and powerful enough to wipe out the entire solar system." He paused for a moment, listening to the reactions of his crewmates at the other end of the comm channel. He didn't wait for a response. "If you come in they will be aware that someone from Earth is monitoring them, and may attempt to speed up their operations. At the moment all they know is that one small, unarmed _Suliban_ craft has infiltrated their operations. I'll send you the data, you stay at a safe distance…" He trailed off. He didn't really want to think about it. Then he hit upon an idea.

"Sir. The transporter." He heard a whoop of relief from someone on the other end – probably Trip. 

"Of course!" His friend exclaimed. "I'll get straight down there, Malcolm. See ya soon." Malcolm nodded, foolish, really. No one could see him. He was scared, he had to admit it. There was another barrage coming in from one of the warships and he knew that the chances of the transporter succeeding at such a distance were slim, at best. Odds were, he'd be meeting his Maker soon. Either that or an appointment with old Lucifer. 

The second barrage hit, and as soon as it did, Malcolm knew he was gone. It was stronger than the first, and the control panel in front of him exploded, flames lashing out at his uniform, just as the dancing sparkles of the transporter began to take hold of his body and pull him away…

*

"Come on, Malcolm." Trip muttered fervently through clenched teeth. He stared, transfixed, at the transporter pad as a figure began to appear on it. In that moment, a thousand fears erupted in Trip's mind. What if the transporter had malfunctioned, and what was coming through now was in fact the twisted, mutilated body of his friend? What if Malcolm was already dead? _No. _Trip shook himself as the figure began to solidify. _Don't think like that._ He hurried to the pad, ready and willing to give any help he could to his friend. Then the figure solidified completely, the transport complete. Trip gasped in horror at what appeared before him. It was Malcolm, but he was horribly burnt, fresh blood streaming across his face… 

"Oh, Malcolm." Trip breathed, as he hurried to his friend's side, cradling hi limp body in his arms. "Just you hang in there Malcolm." He sobbed, "It's gonna be alright, Phlox will be here in a minute." Malcolm gave a choke which may have been a laugh. 

"Trip…" He whispered hoarsely, every word a battle. "Thankyou. For… for everything." Trip shook his head furiously. 

"Don't do that Malcolm! Don't you say goodbye!" But it was too late. He was gone. Trip stared in shock at the body in his arms. His best friend… dead. First Lizzie, now Malcolm. Would the pain and grief never end? The comm chirped beside him. 

"Have you got him, Trip?" It was Archer, his voice full of worry. Trip bit his lip, tears streaming silently down his cheeks.

"I got him sir." He heard a sigh of relief on the other end. "But… he… he's…" He couldn't say it. Saying it would make it real. If he didn't say it then perhaps his friend could still, somehow, wake up. 

"But?" Archer prompted, his voice full of dread, and Trip took a deep breath.

"He's dead." 

*

Whilst all this was going on, the entity which had been Malcolm Reed was crying out in pain. The pain didn't, as Malcolm had thought it would, fade into nothingness after death, along with the rest of the eternal soul, but in fact intensified until it reached such levels as were unbearable. He was in some kind of swirling vortex, both infinitely tiny and yet infinitely large. The entity was everything, and nothing, all at the same time. He was everywhere in the entire universe, and yet he was nowhere. His mind, brain, soul, whatever it was, fought to get itself around this oddly complex sense, but to no avail. _What am I?_ The entity that had once been Malcolm thought desperately to itself. Suddenly, the vortex split, and he was torn apart down the middle… not that he had a middle anymore. _I'm dead._ He thought, realisation dawning suddenly. _And if I'm dead then this must be…oh my…_He gasped, and furiously tried to pull away from the terrible force from the left vortex. _Heaven…and Hell. Which one am I consigned to, then?_ One part of the entity's mind was thinking quite calmly, but its other half was quite furious. _No!_ Malcolm Reed raged. _I am not ready to go! I _will not_ go! Not like this! _The part which was still very much gripped by the living person who had been Malcolm Reed scrabbled furiously at the edges of the mortal world, determined not to let go. _There is so much I haven't done, so much I haven't said! Can I not have the chance to say goodbye? _

And then, just like that, the pulling stopped. He was left floating in the middle of the vortex, which had stopped swirling now… he was floating away, back to the mortal world. _Is it really just as easy as that?_ Malcolm thought dubiously. He felt… strange… he could feel wind rushing on his skin… heat… then he was back. Standing next to Trip on the transporter pad. _It was just a hallucination, that's all._ He assured himself.

"Hey, Trip, you were cutting it a bit close, weren't you?" He turned to his friend with a grin on his face. Strangely, Trip did not reply. He was bending over something, a body… 

"Oh my…" Malcolm stepped back in horror. _It's me, it's my body, I _am _dead, and this is… the afterlife? Hell, or heaven? Or neither? Am I some sort of ghost?_ Malcolm steeled himself and stepped round Trip. His friend did nothing to show that he had noticed him at all. Malcolm took a deep breath, looked down, and flinched. His body was burnt, battered, bruised bloody, and undeniably dead. And unless this was some kind of hallucination brought on by the long-distance transport, he was, in fact, some kind of ghostly spirit. 

"Commander." Both Malcolm and Trip whirled around towards Phlox, who was approaching with a med team. His face was grave. "I see I am too late." He said heavily, and Trip nodded mutely, and in that moment Malcolm wished more than anything that he could somehow turn back time so that he did not have to die. He wasn't afraid to die, and never had been, but to watch, helpless, whilst those you care for have their lives ripped apart by your absence… it was torture greater than any the physical world could conjure up. Malcolm watched helplessly as the med team quietly and solemnly placed his wrecked body onto a stretcher, covered it with a grey sheet, and slowly walked away in a mournful procession, taking the body back to sickbay where Phlox would undoubtedly perform an autopsy.

"Doc?" Phlox turned back to Trip, a concerned frown on his normally cheerful face. Trip was still kneeling on the floor, his arms wrapped round himself, and he was rocking back and forwards like a child trying to block out the real world when it became too much for him. 

"Commander?" Phlox inquired quietly, and Trip turned to him, his face streaked with tears. 

"Do you think… do you think… it would've hurt him much?" Trip's voice was quiet. Phlox paused for a moment and Malcolm knew immediately what was going through the Denobulan's mind. Tell the person the truth and make them feel even worse, or lie to protect their feelings? 

"I am not sure." Phlox said eventually. "I will need to run a full autopsy to find out." A lie, Malcolm knew. But then again, if it spared his friend's feelings… 

"I wish you could still hear me Trip." Malcolm sighed and took a step closer to his friend. "Because then I could tell you not to blame yourself." He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder… and it went right through.

"What the -?" Malcolm said in unison with Trip, who was looking around wildly. Clearly, he had sensed… _something_ when Malcolm had touched him… but what? Malcolm shook his head in complete confusion and helpless despair. 

"Trip, listen to me! Why can't you hear me, I'm right _here_!" Malcolm was nearly screaming with frustration, but to no avail. Malcolm desperately tried to think of a reason… could it be that he was experiencing a transporter malfunction, just like Hoshi had, or was he really… _No! I can't be dead, I just can't be!_ His consciousness raged. Confused, angry, and just a little bit scared, Malcolm Reed turned on his oddly transparent heel and headed to the bridge for some answers.

*

Archer sat down heavily in his command chair. Around him, the bride crew were staring dumbly at him, shock filling their faces. Hoshi looked as though she was about to cry.

"S – Sir." She squeaked, and Archer turned towards her, his body on auto-pilot.

"Hoshi?" he asked mechanically, and she brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes with a trembling hand.

"He – he sent the results from his scans just before the cell ship blew." She said quietly. "I – I think you should see them." Archer stood up, grateful for any distraction which might put off the moment he when would have to have to have face up to the fact that, a few decks away, an officer and friend was lying dead. He glanced down at the monitor over Hoshi's shoulder, and breathed in sharply. 

"Oh, my…" He murmured. It was too much. First Malcolm, now this. It was all too much for one day. "Hoshi." He croaked hoarsely. "Get me Admiral Forrest." And with that, he turned on his heel, and strode into his ready room, where he promptly fell into his chair and placed his head in his hands, grief, fear and the weight of responsibility tearing around his soul. 

*

Malcolm entered the bridge just as Archer left it. He had found that there was one advantage to being both invisible and amorphous – he no longer had to wait for doors to open, or for turbolifts to arrive. He could simply walk straight through the walls. He glanced around, a lump growing in his throat. Around the bridge, the crew were all in varying degrees of shock and disbelief. Hoshi was bent over her console, her shoulder's trembling ever so slightly, and Travis was staring out into space, a numb look of disbelief on his face. Lieutenant Chez, the officer who had been filling in for Malcolm whilst he was away, was burying himself in his work, but was betrayed by the slight quiver of his bottom lip. He had only supposed to filling in for a few days. Malcolm sighed a sigh which no on heard. Now it seemed that the poor man would be "filling in" for him indefinitely. 

"I – I don't know how to believe it." Hoshi said suddenly, and Travis glanced up in concern. She sighed. "Malcolm always seemed so… indestructible, somehow." Travis nodded gravely.

"I know exactly what you mean." Malcolm groaned in frustration, and was about to say something when the comm terminal beside Hoshi chirped, cutting him off. Archer's voice filtered through into the bridge.

"Hoshi." His voice was thick, as though he had just been crying. "What time is it in Malaysia?" This sentence stopped Malcolm in his corporeal tracks. _My parents. How are they going to take all this?_ And in that moment, he was swept up by a thousand regrets, a thousand things he should have said, but never did, and all the hopes and dreams which were now in a million pieces, scattered across a hundred planets, galaxies and times. 

"About six o clock." Hoshi replied, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "Do you – do you want me to get a line through so you can – so you can…" Hoshi trailed off, her face pained. Malcolm squirmed. He didn't want people to feel like this, just for him. 

"Please." Archer dropped the line, and Malcolm made a split-second decision. He had to see this. With only a moment of hesitation, he walked straight through the wall and into the captain's ready-room. 

*

A/N: Next chapter I am intending to dig into Malcolm's past a little, mainly the issues surrounding him and his parent's and how they deal with his death. I've always thought that poor Stuart Reed has been hideously abused by us fanfic writers so I'm going to try and look at the rift between him and his son in a way different from the general norm, ie. nothing to do with child abuse, and not entirely his fault either. Please tell me what you think, both of the above ideas and the last chapter. Bye for now. 


	3. Chapter Three: Of Memories and Poetry

A/N: So, as always, just a quick word to my delightful reviewers:

Jen717: Ok… I've picked up on that in this chapter. Thanks for picking up on that!

Angharad: My sentiments exactly. I hope this chapter lives up to your hopes for Stuart Reed's character… however, I've just watched _Silent Enemy_, and have realised that my characterisation of Reed senior is hideously OOC… I'll probably get flamed now! *hides behind Malcolm* 

Reedie: Your wish is my command!

KaliedescopeCat: Thanks for your comments there… I might change the summary on chapter one if I get the chance… glad you liked the death scene, I was worried that it might be a bit weird, but… yeah. Thanks.

Exploded Pen: Sorry if I've depressed you!

Sorry if I've forgotten anyone. 

Ok then… this chapter I'm trying to deal with people's reactions to Malcolm's death… mainly Madeline Reed, Hoshi, Trip and Archer. I've been trying to get across things like guilt, anger from some people towards Trip for "sending" Malcolm to his death, and just an explosion of disbelief and shock. I don't know if I may have overdone it a bit, as I fortunately have very little experience in these matters. I've also tried to make Stuart Reed *nice*, hopefully you won't think he's too OOC. 

Summary: Malcolm has just died, and his family must be informed. The crew of the Enterprise must also face up to the funeral, but they find that Malcolm was well prepared for death, and even left a goodbye…

Disclaimer: Um… I own nothing. I don't own Enterprise. I'm not sure who wrote the poem used later on in the chapter, but it wasn't me. 'Nough said. Just read the fic.

Chapter Three

Stuart Reed was nervous. Nervous, for perhaps the first time in his life. _This is ridiculous. _He told himself sharply. _Worried about meeting some… kid._ He glared at his reflection, and ran a hand through his hair for perhaps the fiftieth time that evening, and glanced at his watch. His wife, Mary, shot him an amused glance from behind the book she was reading.

"Really, Stuart, I don't see why you're so worried." She said, smiling. Stuart glared.

"You don't understand." He snapped, and Mary looked at him reproachfully. Stuart sighed. She could still pin him with that glare, even now, years after she had first given him that glare, one night in a club when he had accidentally spilt a drink over her. _The beginnings of a beautiful friendship._ Stuart thought wryly, before returning to the mirror. 

"Of course I understand." Mary said, putting her book down. "Madeline is my daughter too, you know." Stuart frowned, ever so slightly. 

"But you don't have to… give her away, do you?" He shot back. Their daughter had recently rung them with the news that she was engaged, and would like to bring her new fiancé over to Malaysia to meet them. Stuart, of course, had been furious, as any father would be. He hadn't even _heard_ about the man until Madeline had announced their engagement, for goodness sake. Mary rolled her eyes, paused, hesitant, before speaking again, her voice quiet. 

"I don't know how Malcolm is going to react to all this, when she tells him, you know. If he's anything like you, he'll probably fly off the handle as well." Stuart gave a sudden start and glanced at his wife. She always got a slightly pained look on her face when she talked about their son. 

"I know you miss him, Mary." He said quietly, guilt creeping into his voice. Mary gave him a sad look.

"Don't you go blaming yourself now, Stuart Reed." She rebuked him softly, and he scowled. 

"I have every right to!" He said hotly, and Mary sighed in exasperation.

"It was his choice to go, you know. It's been his choice not to call." Stuart shook his head.

"If I hadn't pushed him so far -" He was cut off by the ringing of the doorbell. His heart suddenly skipped a beat. He took a deep breath and headed towards the door. Suddenly, the comm channel beeped. 

"I'll get it." Mary offered, a small grin tugging at her lips at the comically pained look on her husband's face. "Go on." She nodded towards the door, and Stuart sighed. He was not looking forward to this. He just hoped Maddie wasn't holding a grudge about the way he'd reacted the day before over the comm. But then again, Madeline Reed wasn't the type of person to hold a grudge for long, particularly not against her own father. _Not going to be a Reed for much longer, though_, Stuart thought sadly as his hand closed around the door handle. _Here we go then._ He steadied himself as the door swung open. His daughter bounded in, a huge grin plastered all over her face.

"Dada! It's great to see you!" She squealed as she grabbed him into a hug. Behind her stood an extremely nervous-looking young man with dark brown hair. He shot Stuart an uneasy grin which the older man did not return. Madeline stood between them awkwardly, her eyes glancing from one to the other. Her eyes flicked towards her mother, who was leaning towards the monitor screen with a concerned expression on her face. She was completely absorbed. There would be no help from that quarter. 

"Dad." She said firmly, placing a hand on her father's shoulder and looking seriously into his eyes. "You _promised_ that you would try not to… not to…" Stuart sighed, realising for the second time that day how much of a fool he could be sometimes.

"I'm sorry." He said honestly. "I don't know, Maddie… it seems like only yesterday that you were my little girl. I don't want to lose you." Madeline rolled her eyes and hugged him.

"You silly old fool, you're _not_ losing me. Now come on, let's get inside, I'm starving." 

"Ok." Stuart grinned and turned to his wife.

"Come on Mary, you can put your gossiping off for a few hours, can't you?" He grinned. Mary turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. Stuart's heart dropped like a stone.

"It's Malcolm." She said, her eyes sparkling with pain. "He's dead."

*

Malcolm watched helplessly as his mother turned away from the screen and spoke to someone in the room outside of the view of the monitor.

"It's Malcolm." He heard her sob. "She's dead." Then he heard a cry of pain – _Madeline_? 

"Oh, no." He whispered, and stepped closer to the screen.

"I'm so sorry." Archer said, his voice breaking slightly. "I wish there was something we could have done." Then, suddenly, Madeline's face appeared on the screen, and she was screaming. 

"No!" She sobbed. "He can't be! He just can't be! It's not true, you're lying!" Malcolm watched, helpless, as his father pulled her into his arms.

"Madeline!" He said urgently, looking her in the eyes. "Don't!" Madeline ignored her father, fighting to break free of his grip. Then another man appeared in front of the screen. He gently took her hand and held it tight.

"Maddie." He said quietly, his brown eyes warm. "Calm down. Please." Malcolm frowned, and leant forward. Who was this man? Then he caught sight of the ring on Madeline's ring finger, and immediately understood. Madeline had spoken, in her last letter to him, of a "certain young man". It seemed that his little sister had finally found true love. The man turned to the screen as the three Reed's, shell-shocked, sat down, each wearing similar expressions of grief and shock. All except for Malcolm's father, who looked as though he couldn't quite decide what to do. He seemed confused, lost. 

"Thankyou, Captain." The man nodded at Archer. "Maddie's told me a lot about Malcolm. She looked up to him so, as you can you see." His eyes were earnest in their desperation to help and comfort. "I'm her fiancé." He explained quickly at Archer's mystified expression. "I can – I can understand why she reacted this way. I – I'm sorry for your loss, as well as hers." And with that, the screen went blank, leaving the two occupants of the room in shocked silence, one blissfully unaware of the other's presence, the other painfully aware of all the things he had never said to the other whilst he'd had the chance.

*

Charles "Trip" Tucker was, for the first time in his life, at a complete loss for words, as he stood in the middle of the quarters which had once belonged to his best friend. Without Malcolm's quiet yet incredibly powerful presence the room felt empty, cold. He stared sadly at the bed, neatly made, as usual, and the small set of shelves which held a few books, and two framed photographs. Trip picked up one and took a closer look. It was a family photo, taken quite a few years ago by the looks of it, and though Trip knew that the dark-haired young man at the edge was Malcolm, he could honestly say that he did not know the man in the picture. The man in the photo was smiling, care-free, his eyes full of excitement and wonder. The Malcolm Trip had known, _did_ know, was different, more weighed down by the cares which life had laid down on him. The man in the photo had had no idea that his decision to join Starfleet would take him so far from home, and eventually cost him his life. Trip gazed silently at the photo for a moment, at Malcolm's sister, who was playfully tugging at her brother's hand, and at Malcolm's parents, who were in the background, looking on in pride. And then there was the other photograph… Trip frowned in consternation as he picked it up. It too had Malcolm in it, a lot younger, too… Trip would have guessed about eighteen… he was standing, hand in hand, with a pretty young woman, who was smiling happily at the man next to her. They were both wearing Starfleet uniforms, trainee ones, and Trip could just make out the single black bar, outlined in silver, which represented the rank of trainee cadet, on both their uniforms. Both wore the red shoulder piping which represented either tactical or engineering expertise. Trip squinted at the picture carefully… the woman appeared to be wearing a ring of some kind on her left hand, on her ring finger… _That can't be right._ Trip thought in confusion. _Unless…_ Overwhelmed by curiosity, he scrabbled about with the back of the frame and, with dexterity borne of many years of working in engineering and maintenance of tiny, fragile wires, prised the back off. He gently slid the photo out of the frame and regarded the neat writing on the back of it. 

"Happier Times, Sadly Over." Trip read aloud, mystified. "What's that's supposed to mean?" 

"I'm not sure Malcolm would want you to be trawling through his room, you know." A voice said behind him. Trip whirled around. It was Hoshi, and she looked awful.

"Hoshi?"" Trip asked in concern. "Are you alright?" Stupid question, really. Of course she wasn't alright. There were red rings around her eyes and her normally neat and tidy hair was a mess. 

"The captain said that we should just clear his stuff out and go." Hoshi's voice was strangely high. "No messing about." 

"Hoshi!" Trip stepped closer to the pretty young linguist, grabbing a hold of her hands. "It's alright!" Hoshi gave him a look which immediately made him regret saying those words. 

"No it's not!" She said, the tears streaming from her eyes. "He's gone, and – and - and… what am I supposed to do?" She finished finally, and Trip looked at her helplessly. 

"Hoshi." He said quietly. "I know what you're goin' through. We all do. Your not alone, you know." Hoshi pulled away from him, her eyes full of anger.

"You knew that the cell ship was damaged!" She shouted at him, her eyes blazing. "And yet you still let him go out there!" Trip stopped still, his breath quiet and shallow. _She's right._ He thought, his insides churning with guilt. _This is all my fault. My best friend is dead, and it's all _my_ fault! _But Hoshi wasn't finished yet.

"You should be the one lying dead right now, not him!" She shouted, her grief now seemingly beyond tears. Trip sat down heavily, his head in his hands.

"You're right." He sobbed. "You're right." Suddenly his had brushed against a book lying open on the desktop. Mystified, he read aloud the first line of the open page with a shaking voice. 

"Do not stand by my grave and weep…" Hoshi seemed to come out of a trance, and gasped, completely ignoring what Trip had just said.

"Oh, Trip, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that!" She said desperately. "It wasn't your fault, Trip! I – I forget what I just said, I didn't mean it!" But Trip had forgotten all about that for the moment.

"Hoshi." He said, his voice hoarse. "Look at this." Hoshi frowned as she lent over his shoulder to read the slightly yellowed page. 

"I know this poem…" She frowned harder. "Was it open like this when you came in?" Trip nodded mutely.

"Do ya – do ya reckon – that he was…" He trailed off. 

"Saying goodbye?" Hoshi finished for him. She shrugged, her eyes pained. "If he knew that it was going to be a dangerous mission…" She shook her head. This was getting more and more confusing with every moment that passed.

*

Malcolm Reed smiled grimly as he watched Trip call for silence. They were gathered in the armoury. Malcolm found that there was something almost morbidly fascinating to watch one's own funeral. Trip was standing at the front, his hands clasped awkwardly around the small book he and Hoshi had found, the day before, in Malcolm's quarters. Malcolm took a moment to glance around the room. It was clear by the expressions on some people's faces that the death of the armoury officer had affected them deeply, but it was also clear that some of them, like the MACO's, were only there because they had to be. They were standing huddled in a group, chatting and laughing. The people close to them were throwing them dirty looks, angry at them but clearly unwilling to say or do anything. Malcolm scowled and gave one a quick poke on the back for fun. The man flinched, and Malcolm grinned in triumph, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head which was rebuking him for being childish. _Waste of energy, that._ The voice in his head chided. Though people _could_ feel his presence when he touched them, it was quite a draining experience for Malcolm to be in contact with someone for long enough to get any sort of message across. It was almost as though the two were incompatible; the living and… and… whatever Malcolm was. Ghost, Spirit. Angel. Whatever. Malcolm shook his head and returned to his friend's side, carefully avoiding walking through anyone in the process. He watched as the crew suddenly quietened as Trip cleared his throat, ready to speak. When he did, his voice was hoarse and shaky. Malcolm knew what was coming next. He had prepared for this day. Trip took a deep breath.

"I…" He started, unsure. Trip briefly closed his eyes and took another steadying breath. When he spoke again, his voice was firm with resolve. "I don't know how much most of you knew about Malcolm Reed, but I'm sure all of you know of the sacrifices he's made for this crew, and, eventually, the ultimate sacrifice, which leads us to this unhappy situation." For once, Trip's accent was smooth, almost as though he was subconsciously trying to imitate the speech patterns of his dead friend. He glanced quickly at the makeshift coffin, the torpedo casing, and spoke again. "He was a bit of mystery, when he first came on board. I won't try to pretend that he was perfect – he could be a real annoying, pessimistic and cynical fool at times." The crowd laughed softly, but it was laughter tinged with sadness. Hoshi was leaning heavily against the captain, tears streaming from her once-happy, beautiful brown eyes. Trip spoke up again, his voice now serious.

"But he was also one of the bravest men I ever knew, and the best friend any man could hope for. Supportive, understanding, and yet he never even attempted to trouble any of us with _his_ problems when he had them. He was dedicated to his work, and it is a testament to that work that many of our number are still alive today. We all owe our lives, several times, to Malcolm Reed." He stopped then, and opened the book. Malcolm smiled thinly. They had found it then. 

"Malcolm was also not afraid to die. In fact, he was even prepared for it. When clearing out his quarters we came across this book - " Trip held up the dusty volume for inspection, " – and a computer file. On it he had recorded messages, just before leaving Enterprise for the last time, with strict instructions that he wanted it played to his friends and family." Trip coughed. "So now, I would like to read a poem from the book we found." Malcolm smiled, sadly, this time. Trip cleared his throat and began to read.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn's rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift, uplifting rush – of quiet birds in circled flight, I am the soft star that shine at night." Trip paused for a moment, fighting to regain his composure. "Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die." The room fell into a deep silence, broken only by Hoshi's soft sobs. Malcolm gazed around the room sadly. All this melancholy atmosphere was depressing him. Malcolm made a quick decision, turned on his heel, and left as unnoticed as he had come.

*

(A/N: This bit is supposed to be in italics but my computer is being nasty today, sorry.) Captain Jonathon Archer smiled at the young, dark haired man standing stiffly to attention in front of his desk. He was interviewing the young man for the position of tactical officer onboard the new NX ship. "So, Lieutenant, you feel that you have what it takes to be Enterprise's head of security?" __

"Yes sir." Came the swift, crisp reply. Archer shook his head, bemused. 

"Any particular reason, Lieutenant?" The young man frowned slightly, before swiftly answering, his voice strong, confident, and slightly arrogant.

"Because I'm the best there is in my field, sir." Archer raised an eyebrow at the strangely youthful arrogance coming from such a serious looking young man. 

"Isn't that a rather…boastful thing to say, Lieutenant?" Archer was fascinated. All of the other applicants for the armoury officer's job had stuttered, terrified, over Archer's questions, but not this one. He was confident, confident in his own abilities, however limited they might be. The man gave him a swift, piercing look. 

"I don't think so sir, not when it's the truth. Look at my record." Archer did so, and nodded. He had been impressed when he'd first seen the Lieutenant's record, and was still finding it slightly hard to believe. 

"Yes… I see you managed to beat the Kobayishi Maru test. Quite an achievement. Tell me, how did you manage it?" Archer thought he caught the flicker of a triumphant smirk before it was wiped away by the usual, almost Vulcan coolness. 

"I added a little… ah… "invention", shall we say, of my own." Archer leaned forward, incredulous. The Kobayishi Maru test was one inflicted upon Starfleet trainees during their final year, and involved a transport full of innocent civilians stranded in an area of space "belonging" to a known hostile species. The idea of the test was for trainees to learn that, sometimes, there is no "easy" option to take - the lives of your crew, or the lives of civilians? Archer had "failed", miserably. However, some cadets, such as the man standing before Archer now, managed to beat the test… by cheating. __

"You sabotaged the simulator?" Archer asked, grinning. The man half-nodded, a grin spreading briefly across his features.

"Not exactly, sir…I simply made the simulator believe we had stronger weapons than we were supposed to… the examiners passed me when I claimed that, were I the weapons officer on the ship, I would have upgraded the weapons long ago." Archer grinned. He liked this man. 

"I see that you were top of your class when it came to graduation day… and you've also been making some investigations into EM technology?" Archer inquired in a slightly disbelieving tone. EM technology was a notoriously difficult field of technology to comprehend. As far as Archer was concerned, it was way out of his league. He was a pilot, not an engineer or a munitions expert.

"Yes sir." The man nodded. "By my calculations, it is possible to create a stable EM barrier using carefully calculated measures of polarised light energy -"

"Stop, stop." Archer held up a hand to stem the flow of techno-babble streaming from the man's mouth. "You've lost me." He studied the man's face carefully before making a decision. It was inscrutable. "One last question." The man nodded, frowning slightly. 

"Very well." Archer cocked his head to one side, before asking;

"Would you die for your crew?" He was surprised by the swiftness of the reply. 

"Without hesitation." The man said gravely, and Archer grinned suddenly, and held out his hand.

"Well then, welcome to the Enterprise crew, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed." Reed's face broke into the first true smile Archer had seen from him all day. He pumped Archer's hand vigorously.

"Thankyou sir. Thankyou." He turned to leave, but Archer spoke up once more, his voice softer.

"And Malcolm - my condolences." Reed frowned. 

"What?" Then realisation dawned. He nodded heavily. "The Sovereign." Archer nodded gravely, once again searching the Lieutenant's face for some sort of emotion, but, once again, it was completely inscrutable.

"Yes. Your wife." Reed flinched at this, and Archer began to say something, anything to comfort the man, but when Reed again spoke his voice was cold and emotionless. 

"I assure you captain, I am perfectly fine." And with that, he swept from the room, leaving an extremely confused and concerned Jonathon Archer behind him. 

*

Archer sighed as the memories came flooding back to him. He was sitting in his ready room, sitting in front of the communications monitor. 

"Yes." He replied to the man at the other end of the line. "He was… quite a mystery." Stuart Reed sighed.

"You say he left… messages? On his computer?" He asked, clearly mystified. Archer looked carefully at the older man – he could just make out, in the harsh features, Malcolm's stern jaw, and high cheekbones. Steel-grey hair which had once been blond was sticking up in way which reminded Archer all-too forcefully of Malcolm's hair "style" after a fight. 

"Yes." Archer managed to get out finally, and Stuart Reed shot him an odd look.

"Have you listened to them?" The man's tone was suddenly cold, hostile even. Archer drew back slightly, offended.

"Of course not. Malcolm wouldn't have wanted us to, so we didn't." Stuart's expression softened.

"I'm sorry, captain. Things have been very… tense, lately." Offhand sarcasm entered his tone. "Can't think why." Archer winced. 

"Sorry." He muttered, but Stuart shook his head.

"No, I should be the one apologising. I… I don't really know what's come over me, actually, recently…" The older man trailed away, his pale blue eyes filled with pain and confusion. Archer gave a sympathetic nod.

"I think all of us can sympathise with that, Mr Reed." Stuart shot him a piercing glance, clearly thinking, hesitated, then spoke again. 

"You know something, captain?" He asked, his voice heavy. Archer shook his head, and Stuart looked down at his hands in guilt and grief. "I was proud of him, you know." He took a deep breath. "So proud."

*

A/N: So, what d'you think? I really love the poem I used for the funeral scene… In my opinion, it is a really beautiful piece of work. I hope you liked this chapter, I was finding it really hard to get it out the way I wanted it… I may be using more flashback type scenes in later chapters, what do you think? I'm wondering if there may be a reason behind Malcolm's reclusive nature, apart from his father… what if he was bullied a lot at school? This story is really turning into an enormous character study of Malcolm, Trip, and all the others… but I do have a plot in mind. Vaguely. I may even try a bit of romantic action, or even bring another "spirit character" into the mix. I will also evolve on the character of the young woman in the photograph. So, until next time… please review, it will be greatly appreciated. All suggestions and constructive criticism welcome. 


	4. Chapter Four: Love is Cruel

A/N: Ok… firstly, I am really sorry for taking so long. I have probably re-written this chapter at least six times, but I think I've got the best version of it. I am also very sorry for the slightly wacky paragraphing… I think my computer is trying to sabotage my work! And, of course, to my reviewers:

Reedie: Thanks! Did I really make you cry? Gosh… 

Anyway, you're right: I won't give Malcolm a HEAP of problems… maybe just one or two… poor guy. *hugs Malcolm and apologises for everything he's being put through*. 

Gabi: Thanks… I'm not particularly fond of deathfics either… they seem so final, which is what I'm trying not to do with this story. Yes, the crew are going to start to "perceive" that Malcolm is still with them , in a way… though I won't say too much, I don't want to spoil it for you!

KaliedescopeCat: Um… thanks. The other spirit character WAS going to be someone completely different than what you suggested, but since reading your review… well, let's just say, if there's anything my reviewers say they'd like to see, I can't resist but add it in… 

Interested Reviewer: Thanks. The poem is called (I think), "Do not stand by my grave and weep". No one is exactly sure who it's by… quite a few people have laid their claims to it… it's quite a famous poem… just type it into Google search engine and it will come straight up.

Amy Rose: Thanks! The bit where he was between the mortal and the immortal world was really just my take on the book, _The Wish List_, by Eoin Colfer… but I did make up some of that bit myself. As to Malcolm leaving the poem and the messages, my idea whilst writing it was that he always had them, ready, on his desk, in case something unexpected _did_ happen to him – that he was prepared to die, not only in that instance, but at any time, during any away mission. It's just the feeling I get watching certain episodes, like _Minefield_ or _Shuttlepod One_. 

Summary: The crew believe Malcolm to be dead, and everyone, even T'Pol, are feeling the effects. However, Malcolm is not as dead as they would believe, but is too lost in his own grief to try and reach the mortal world again…

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Four

Charles Tucker stared, lost in thought, out of the long windows in the mess hall, and at the stars flashing by. He avoided looking at the empty seat beside him. This was his table, his and Malcolm's. They always sat here together, for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner, or for a rejuvenating coffee if both of them were working late. It felt strange to think that they would never again sit at the table, talking quietly into the late hours of the night, or simply sitting in silence enjoying one another's company. It felt strange to realise that he would never again hear that calm, cultured voice, or see the bright twinkle in those calm grey eyes. It hurt to know that Malcolm Reed was gone forever. 

*

But what Trip didn't know was that his friend was right next to him still, a concerned expression on his face. Malcolm Reed was sitting right next to him, even though it was just in spirit. _Well, isn't this one merry little party._ Malcolm thought sourly to himself. There had been no wake, no celebration at all, after his "funeral". Just quiet groups of people walking away mournfully, shell shocked. Malcolm groaned in frustration as he stared at his friend. He wished he could do something, _anything_ to help relieve his friend's pain. He reached out a hand to touch his friend's shoulder, not caring if it drained him of energy, not caring if it hurt him, all he cared about was comforting Trip… and then his entire world was flipped upside down.

*

Malcolm gasped subconsciously as he fought with a wave of suppressed memories which were not his… he could see himself, out of Trip's eyes, during their time trapped in the shuttlepod together, heard how pessimistic and miserable he sounded… _What's happening? Where am I?_ His mind asked, but in his soul he already knew the answer. He was with Trip, seeing the world through Trip's eyes… he was with his friend, not in body but in spirit. Slowly at first, then more urgently, he began to try and communicate.

*

Trip shuddered suddenly, and stared wildly around the mess hall. He suddenly didn't feel very well at all – unbidden memories which had been locked in a dark corner of his mind suddenly began to wash over him, like an unstoppable tsunami of fear and grief. Then, it stopped. He felt calm, at peace with himself for the first time in days. _There now._ A voice in his head which did not belong to him spoke soothingly. _It wasn't your fault, Trip._ The voice said, and Trip realised with a jolt of realisation who the voice belonged to. 

"Malcolm?" He muttered incredulously, and he suddenly felt an odd desire to chuckle. _I'm going mad._ Trip shook his head. _No, you're not._ The voice which sounded like Malcolm assured him stonily. Trip shivered, and stared again around the room. Around him, people were laughing, joking, getting on with their lives. But he was stuck with this… this _echo_ of his friend, produced, he assumed, by his exhausted and grief-worn mind. _I'm not an echo, Trip. I'm really here, with you!_ The voice told him, exasperated. But Trip shook his head feverishly.

"I won't listen to you, you're not real. Go away." He muttered to himself, not caring what people would think about the chief engineer sitting at a table on his own and talking angrily to himself. "_Go away_." He hissed once again, and sighed with relief as the voice left him once and for all. 

*

Malcolm Reed "sighed" with sadness as he left his friend's mind. Trip hadn't believed him. He felt lonely, abandoned. Was he cursed now to remain as mere spirit, watching in agony as his friend's grieved, accepted, and then finally got on with their lives? It was a torture of the worst kind. _Oh, Cathy, what would you do now?_ He thought sadly, remembering the way his love had been able to solve almost every problem, the way she had always seemed to make everything look ten times better than they actually were. When Malcolm had been with her, everything was right with the world. _And then you went and died on me._ He thought bitterly. He could still remember, that day, when a stony-faced Starfleet official had come and torn apart his very existence…

*

"Hey, you'd better get that, Malcolm." James Jameson - Malcolm's best friend and brother-in law - grinned at him. Malcolm rolled his eyes and reluctantly pushed himself from the comforting depths of the couch. __

"Lazy little so and so." He muttered, throwing his friend an amused glance. James shrugged, grinning.

"It'll be for you, anyway. It's your flat, as you keep reminding me." Malcolm shot him a glare – James had been bunking at his flat for weeks, ever since Malcolm's wife, James' sister, had gone off on an assignment. 

"Yes. And don't you forget it!" And with that, he left the room. James grinned at his friend's receding back, and stretched luxuriously. He was one of the few people who could dare to tease Malcolm – he knew that Malcolm would never throw him out, because Malcolm wasn't that sort of person. James frowned slightly as he heard Malcolm open the door, and hushed, grave voices speaking. James stood up hesitantly, and poked his head around the doorway. Three Starfleet officials were standing there, talking to Malcolm.

"The Sovereign…" They were saying, "…major warp breach… nothing anyone could have done." And there was nothing for James to do now, except hold his friend through the pain, and pray that someday he would find again the peace and love which had just been so cruelly torn from him. 

*
    Stuart Reed stood under the weeping willow tree, breathing in deep the moisture-laden air, staring up at the stars which had claimed his only son. It would be monsoon season soon, and the world would soon be drowned in the rain. Stuart loved Malaysia, loved the gentle beauty of it all, but he still loved England better. He had been born there, had grown up there, had met his first love there. For him, there was nothing more beautiful than the rugged hillsides of the countryside, and nothing more refreshing than to sink into an ice-cold river, with shady trees overhead to grip onto if the currents became to strong. No sound was lovelier to him than the gentle, tuneless whistles of the native birds in the morning. Stuart Reed would have gladly tolerated a thousand days of storms and blustery rainfalls just to have but one more day walking the hills in the gentle sun. But he had had to move to Malaysia for medical reasons – and he now realised just how much he had become a prisoner to his own failings, both physical and emotional. 
"Dad?" A quiet voice startled him from his reverie. He turned, a small smile on his face. 
"Madeline." He nodded, as he took in his daughter's dishevelled appearance. She was in her nightclothes. "Couldn't sleep either?" Madeline shook her head silently, and Stuart sighed. "Come here." He said gently, offering out his hand. His daughter took it, hesitantly, and he pulled her towards him. They stood like that for several moments before Stuart pulled away from the embrace, awkward. "It will get better." He said, looking deep into her grey eyes, so much like her brother's, which were filled with pain.
"Really, Dad?" She asked, and he nodded, grasping her shoulders. 
"Yes. I promise." And he held her close.
    *
    Doctor Phlox was quite confused. He had never been particularly fond of Lieutenant Reed, and so was at a complete loss now, when the man's death was affecting him so. But then again, perhaps he was suffering from what humans called "guilt" – guilt, at his inability to save the man, even though he had been beyond help.
    Phlox had never got to know Malcolm very well, but he had a niggling feeling that the Brit would have been very disapproving of the oh-so-sombre mood which had encapsulated the ship of late. Phlox didn't approve of it either – it was bad for the health of crew morale for everyone to be acting so… morbid.
    And it was Phlox's duty, as chief medical officer, to remedy that situation. And so it was with a warm smile that he greeted the next person to enter his sickbay. That person just happened to be Subcommander T'Pol. 
"Subcommander." He gave her a nod full of a cheeriness that he didn't quite feel. 
"What can I do for you?" The Vulcan science officer stood, looking slightly awkward, on the threshold of the doors for a moment, her long, tapering fingers gripping the PADD in her hand slightly harder than was necessary. "Subcommander?" He repeated, more concerned this time. "Is anything the matter?" T'Pol hesitated slightly before answering. 
"Yes." Phlox frowned. 
"Is it the Pa'nar Syndrome? Is it getting worse?" T'Pol shot him a sharp look, and Phlox would have sworn that, for a moment, he could see pain and fear in her eyes. 
    But the next moment, she was back to normal, and Phlox was sure it had been a mistake. After all, she was a Vulcan. They didn't express emotions. Unless…
"I have been feeling extremely… emotional, lately." T'Pol said bluntly. "I have been finding it harder to repress my emotions. I believe it is signs of further… deterioration." Phlox frowned, and indicated that she sit on the bio-bed next to her. She did so with infinite grace, not a trace of emotion upon her face. Phlox selected a bio-scanner from his tray of Starfleet medical tools and began to scan, a frown upon his face as he did so. When finished, he shook his head gravely.
    "This is not Pa'nar Syndrome, T'Pol." He said heavily, and T'Pol shot him a puzzled look – well, as puzzled as a Vulcan _could_ look, anyway. 
"It – it is not?" There could be no mistaking it this time, for her voice was heavy with emotion. Phlox shook his head, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He was glad that T'Pol was not deteriorating further, but the reason for her strange lack of control over her emotions was just as unfortunate, just as upsetting, as her rare strain of Pa'nar Syndrome.
    "It is not Pa'nar Syndrome, at least, not entirely." The Denobulan sighed heavily. "However, the disease has made you more… susceptible… to emotions – in other words, the crew are unwittingly projecting their feelings of grief over Lieutenant Reed's death onto you." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Of course, you may also be suffering from what human's call 'guilt'. I know that you weren't particularly close to the Lieutenant, but…" He trailed off, catching sight of the look on T'Pol's face. She pursed her lips, and Phlox had spent more than enough time with her to know that it meant she was angry, angry and upset. And perhaps a little defensive, too. 
"I must go, Doctor. Thankyou for your diagnosis. It was most… helpful." And with that, she swept from the room. Phlox sighed again. His enthusiasm for trying to improve crew morale was rapidly burning out. 
    *
Catherine Eddison scowled as she stared into the depths of her glass, in which the last dregs of a stiff drink were swirling. She quickly downed the last mouthful and grimaced, before standing up to leave. __

"Hey, sis!" Elanor rolled her eyes as her brother called to her from the door of the club. She raised an eyebrow, running a cursory eye over his clothes – loose, colourful – clearly her twin brother James' idea of "pulling" clothes. 

"Going somewhere special?" She asked in a voice full of dry amusement as she neared the doorway. She drank in a deep breath of cool, refreshing air – like nectar from heaven after two hours in the smoky bar. James grinned, and glanced at the young man next to him. Elanor eyed the boy carefully – he was quite short, with wavy black hair and handsome grey eyes. Elanor had seen many young cadets before, including many who had been more attractive by far than the odd specimen before her, but… his eyes were filled with a delightful innocence and honesty that only youth could give. And goodness knew Elanor craved a little honesty. 

"Well…" Her twin brother glanced at his feet, at least having the good grace to look mildly ashamed of himself. "Y'know how it is… Malcolm and I, we…" He trailed off awkwardly, but Elanor wasn't listening anyway. She was carefully studying the young man – "Malcolm", her brother had called him – who had gone distinctly red in the face upon being introduced. She smiled warmly at him, extending a hand.

"Hi, I'm Catherine – James' twin sister. You might have heard about me, though I doubt it – James generally tries to pretend he hasn't got a sister." She grinned at her brother, who flushed with indigence.

"As if I would!" he exclaimed, and the young man called Malcolm smiled, his eyes alight with amusement and a youthfulness which Elanor feared she no longer possessed herself. Elanor was, of course, the same age as her twin, but had begun her Starfleet training a year earlier. She had always been the more "mature" of the pair. 

James turned to his sister once again, a more serious expression on his face. "They turned you down again, didn't they?" He asked her, his eyes and voice filled with concern. Elanor shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. Malcolm looked from one to the other with open bewilderment.

"Sorry – turned what down?" He asked, his brow furrowed in childlike concern. Elanor turned to him, her eyes sparkling with warmth, which, under the circumstances, was quite surprising. "I've recently been doing a bit of investigation into EM technology – I'm in my second year of tactical and weapons training – and I need a grant from Starfleet to continue my research. I've shown them my ideas and research at least a hundred times, but -" "They still keep turning down your requests." Malcolm finished for her, and she nodded gravely. "Exactly. This afternoon was the fifth time it's happened." "Ouch." Malcolm said with a sympathetic wince. "I'm doing that course as well." He added, almost as an afterthought. He eyed her with interest. "Perhaps you could show me your ideas some time?" Beside them, James groaned. "Look, if we're going to be discussing deadly boring stuff like this, can we at least get a table and a drink?" He asked, sounding like a sulky child. Elanor rolled her eyes at him. __

"Well, I was just leaving, but…" She trailed off awkwardly. Malcolm was looking at her with those fascinating eyes of his. 

"Stay." He said simply, before reiterating. "I'll buy you a drink?" Elanor hesitated, before smiling.

"Ok then." She replied, and Malcolm swiftly returned her smile, and it was a smile as warm and sincere as any. She headed towards a table and he graciously pulled up a seat for her. Elanor flushed, ignoring her brother's disgusted look. 

"I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he asked, throwing them one last reproachful glare. Elanor grinned.

"Yeah, you do that." She turned to Malcolm, her eyes twinkling. "Silly old coot, our James is." Malcolm nodded politely.

"If – if you say so." Goodness, I'm not making him nervous, am I?_ Elanor thought with surprise, and a little pleasure. It had been a long time since any man had reacted in that way towards her – true, the men in her defence class were scared of her, but that was only because they knew she could kick their backsides from San Francisco to Australia if they annoyed her. "So." Malcolm said suddenly, breaking her reverie. "I hear you're something of a 'legend' among your classmates?" Elanor looked up sharply, scowling, but her expression soon softened when she saw the wide, cheerful grin on her companion's face. _

"Yeah." She replied softly. "A bit." She studied Malcolm's face carefully. Her brother had, of course, spoken to her about his roommate, and had always described him as something of an optimist. She could see what her brother had meant – Malcolm's face shone with a naïve hopefulness, and his eyes told of a thousand plans, a thousand ambitions. "And you – I hear that you_ are something of a prodigy in the field?" He shrugged modestly, looking slightly embarrassed. _

"It's all a load of exaggeration, I assure you." He told her firmly, in that odd accent of his. It was definitely British, but somehow… softer, with an almost musical lilt to it. Elanor smiled. She had never been one to believe in destiny, but, somehow, she felt that their meeting today had not been mere chance, not at all.

*

Malcolm smiled sadly as he remembered things which were now lost to him. He could still see Elanor, clear as day in his mind's eyes, laughing softly at a joke, brushing away that wavy lock of hair which always used to fall into her eyes when she moved her head. He remembered the soft scent of vanilla which she always liked to wear, remembered the soft touch of her skin against his, and the way her bright blue eyes used to sparkle with mischief whenever she thought to some new way to play a practical joke on her brother. Malcolm remembered all the good, all the tiny little things for which he loved her, but he also remembered, with sadness, the bad times. He remembered, the last time he had ever spoken to her, they had fought. The last memory he had of them together was of an argument, a petty fight which Malcolm regretted to this day, even after death.

*

Malcolm Reed pursed his lips angrily as he watched his wife packing her stuff, ready to leave him for the cold abyss of space. __

"You shouldn't be going, Catherine." It wasn't a plea, it wasn't a request, it was an order. His wife of four years turned to him, her eyes flashing with open fury.

"We've talked about this already, Malcolm." Her voice was heavy with anger and impatience. Malcolm stepped closer to her, grabbing her arm.

"Cathy, it's too dangerous." He said coldly, and she sneered at him, her eyes hard and cold. 

"Too dangerous? You're just jealous that I got this job rather than you!" Malcolm scowled. It was half true, at least – they had both been in the running for the job of armoury officer onboard the newest warp ship – The SS Sovereign _and Malcolm had been quite… surprised when his wife had got the job, over him. Surprised, and more than a little bit jealous. Not that he'd ever admit as much to _her_._

"That's not what it's about!" He shouted, not exactly lying, but not completely truthfully either. Catherine looked at him in disbelief.

"Yeah, right. Face it Malcolm, you're turning into your father." She snapped, and Malcolm drew back as thought he had been burnt. __

"How dare you!" He hissed vehemently, trembling with fury. "How DARE you!" Catherine looked into his eyes sadly.

"But I do dare, Malcolm." She smiled a small, sad smile. "You're not the man I married four years ago. You're not the man I met, that day, nearly a decade ago, in the bar." Malcolm shook his head, not understanding.

"Of course I am, Elanor, what are you on about?" Catherine sighed heavily.

"Look in the mirror, Malcolm! What happened to you, to the honest, beautifully innocent boy I met nine years ago?" Malcolm gave her a cold look. 

"He grew up." He replied shortly, before sweeping from the room, leaving his wife for what would be the last time.

*

And so Malcolm found himself 'sitting' in what had been his old quarters, cursing himself for being such a fool. He would have done anything – _anything_ – would have given up his life, everything he owned, but to have one minute to make up for all that he had said, to apologise to his wife. Sobbing, he laid his head in his hands, tasting the saltiness of his tears as they ran softly down his face. 

"I'm so sorry,Cathy." He whispered to the darkness. "So very sorry." 

"I know." A voice said from behind him, and he whirled around. Standing there, in the centre of the room, her ethereal frame shining with light, was his wife. She smiled softly, and stepped closer to him. He tried to speak, but found he could not. All he could think about in that moment was that the torture was finally over, and that he was reunited, at last, with the only person he had ever truly loved.

*

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter – please tell me what you thought of it, and any suggestions would be welcome. Next chapter, things are going to get much more interesting… and angsty!


	5. Chapter Five: Of Love and War

A/N: Firstly, I would like to say how sorry I am that I haven't been posting as regularly as I would have hoped, but that's the way it is, I suppose… my only defence is that my chapter's for this story are longer than the chapter's of any other story I've ever written, and that I'm dealing with some pretty big issues here. I'm finding certain parts very hard to write, in particular trying not to bore you with the "grieving process" and the way I'm writing it. This chapter we've got a bit more action in reference to the "living" world, and the A-bomb Malcolm discovered in the first chapter. Also a lot of angst for poor old Trip. Also, I am very sorry for any mistakes I have made in concern to Season Three of Enterprise… I haven't seen any episodes after _The Expanse _yet, but I do know that there is reference to a Xindi "weapon". So I suppose this story is going to be heading in a direction quite separate to the series, and is very AU. I hope that doesn't cause any problems! And now, of course, to my delightful reviewers:

Exploded Pen: I still can't believe I'm making people cry with this story! I'm so proud! 

Jani: Thanks!

Gabi: Thanks! Maybe, Malcolm _will_ try and contact Trip again, but I don't want it to get too repetitive. I'll see where it goes – I've already planned my ending, I hope you guys will like it. It involves Trip, very heavily. Then again, it's quite a few chapters away at the moment!

KaliedescopeCat: Well, I _was_ going to put in the "ghost" of a lowly crewman killed during the building of the ship, but your idea was better. I had been planning to put that character in as bit of comic relief. Oh, and I'm very glad you're enjoying this story! My highest reviewed story SO FAR!!!

Amy Rose: Thanks! Okay then – just for you, I've put in more of the "sweet, sexy, Malcolm"! Next chapter I'll probably have an explanation of Malcolm's sudden personality change. Which means MORE ANGST! And see the last section of this chapter for Trip angst – I hope you like it. Poor, poor, darling Trip.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Paramount, Star Trek, or any of its affiliates. I don't own Malcolm Reed, Trip Tucker, or Captain Archer (shame, that). Even the storyline is only half mine – as I've said before, I have drawn a lot of inspiration from Eoin Colfer's _The Wish List_. But the next few scenes are entirely original (within the Enterprise canon, that is). Ok. Enough chatter. What are you doing letting me babble on pointlessly for hours? Read the story! 

Chapter Five

"Cathy?" Malcolm whispered, as though frightened to break the beautiful silence which had settled over the room, frightened that he might break the spell, hallucination, or whatever it was, which had somehow brought his wife back to him. Catherine nodded, her auburn hair falling, as it always did, into her eyes. He stepped closer, reaching out. "Oh, Cathy." He murmured, reaching forward to take her hand… but he couldn't. He frowned, then tried again. As before, he was repelled. It was almost as though there was some sort of… invisible wall, between them, not letting them touch one another.

It was too much for Malcolm, who had suffered blow after emotional blow during the last few days, and he slammed his fist into the desk in frustration. His hand went straight through it, which only caused to frustrate him even more. 

"Cathy!" He shouted, for her appearance was beginning to shimmer, as though she was being claimed by some sort of transporter beam. 

"Malcolm, stop it!" She shouted back, looking panicked. There were strange voices filtering into the room, brief ghosts of images flitting around Catherine.

"Stop _what_?" Malcolm asked, at a complete loss. 

"Getting angry! It's interfering with - " Then, suddenly, she disappeared. Malcolm stared around the room in astonishment.

"Cath." He whispered hoarsely. "Cath, come back!" _Calm down._ A voice said suddenly and firmly from the back of his mind. _Why? What good will it do?_ The rebellious side of his mind argued, but eventually, the other voice won out. After all, what did he have to lose? 

"Ok." Malcolm said, taking deep, calming breaths. "Ok." He repeated, his voice steady. "I'm calm." 

In the blink of an eye, Catherine was back, though she looked much more tired and haggard than she had barely five minutes ago when she had first appeared. Her eyes held a hint of fear, of panic. She was breathing heavily, and leaned against the wall for support whilst she got her breath back. Malcolm scowled. Had _he_ tried to lean against a wall like that he would have probably fallen out the other side. Knowing his luck, he'd probably have fallen through a person as well. 

"Malcolm - " She gasped. "You – must not – get angry." She managed to choke out, her forehead beading with perspiration. Malcolm stepped forward, frowning in concern. He held out a hand to support her – 

"No!" Cathy said suddenly, and Malcolm drew his hand back as though he had been burned. He turned away, hurt. 

"Why?" He asked quietly, his voice filled with regret and only a little anger. "Why can't I touch you?" Catherine sighed, and her image briefly flickered, and Malcolm feared for a moment that he was going to lose her again. 

"Malcolm… I… I'm not really here, not… not in the way you are." Malcolm frowned, confused. 

"I – _what_?" Catherine frowned as well, thoughtfully, and began to pace.

"You didn't want to die… so you were cursed with half a life… that's why you can see and hear everything that's going on around you, but you can't interact with those around you…" Malcolm waited patiently for her to finish. He was well used to her long, rather confusing conversations she held with herself when trying to figure something out – usually some hideously complicated piece of security technology or other. But this time it was different. _Very_ different. Catherine halted her pacing suddenly and turned to Malcolm, her jaw set as though preparing to bare her soul to him. In truth, she was. 

"Malcolm… the reason you can't touch me is because I've moved on. You haven't." She said simply, and Malcolm stared at her in disbelief. 

"_Moved on?_ What on earth – or above it - are you talking about?" Catherine glared at him, as though he was being deliberately difficult. 

"Moved on... into the next life, heaven, hell, whatever you want to call it." 

"Oh." Malcolm eyed his wife of the mortal world curiously. "So… where are you then? Heaven… or hell?" He paused, before asking, almost as an afterthought, "And where am I?" 

"Purgatory." Catherine replied, a wry, amused smile on her face. "And as for where I am… well, some say it is heaven, but I am not so sure." Her expression softened sadly. "For what is heaven, without one's only soulmate?" Malcolm smiled a small, sad smile.

"I am glad you think of me that way, Catherine." He said softly, and his wife raised an eyebrow, but the look of gentle longing never left her eyes. 

"Who says I was talking about you?" She asked playfully, but Malcolm merely smiled, and realised suddenly that they had got very much off track. 

"You didn't answer my question, Cath… why can't I touch you?" He pressed, and Catherine glanced around herself, as though expecting someone to leap out of the shadows of Malcolm's old bunk. 

"You can't touch me, because…" She stopped suddenly.

"Because…?" Malcolm urged her to go on, and she took a deep breath. 

"Because we are in completely different places – different planes of existence. I am in the _im_mortal realm, and yet you are still clinging onto the _mortal_ one. I am contacting you in way which is… disapproved of… by my peers. Any loud or particularly strong emotional outbursts will give me away – and you trying to touch me will break the 'link', as it were." 

"Whoah." Malcolm said, his "mind" reeling from the incredibly mind-boggling information he was being fed. He frowned slightly, thinking. "So how do I get out of this, uh… "purgatory"? How do I get to _you_?" Catherine flinched slightly at his words, and a haunted look came into his eyes.

"You can't. At least, not yet." She said sadly. "And maybe never." She paused, and the look which she gave Malcolm almost caused his heart to break. "I cannot tell you what to do. Only _you_ can tell yourself that." Her image flickered, and when she spoke again her voice was much fainter. "Fare thee well, my love." She said sadly, before stepping forward. She leant towards Malcolm – their lips brushed – Malcolm leant closer to her – and she was gone, leaving but the ghost of a kiss behind her. 

"Farewell, Catherine." Malcolm murmured quietly, sadly. "Farewell."

*

Catherine Eddison smiled radiantly at the man next to her as he gently squeezed her hand. Through her white wedding veil she could see the vicar preparing himself for the service. Though she herself wasn't particularly religious, her parents were devout Christians, and so she felt that it was most… appropriate… to get married in the church she had so often been to with her parents during her childhood. Malcolm hadn't minded – as far as he was concerned, the further he stayed away from the wedding planning, the better. Cathy allowed herself a small, personal smile at the memory of Malcolm driving himself crazy over such a simple thing as writing his speech, whereas poor Catherine and her mother had been working themselves half to death preparing invitations, buying the dress, choosing the wedding cake. She shook her head – Malcolm was a hopeless case if there ever was one. But she loved him for it. And that was what the day was all, about, wasn't it? Love, commitment, loyalty. Forsaking all others… till death do us part… __

Silently, Catherine went over the vows in her head one more time. Her greatest fear was losing her head completely and making a complete and utter fool of both herself and her husband to be. Not that Malcolm needs much help though._ Catherine thought wryly. Her husband-to-be had managed to leave his shirt hanging out over his trousers, and somehow put the flower in his button hole upside down… and the flower was fake, as well… very obviously so, in fact. _

Malcolm caught her looking and hurriedly tucked his shirt in, a sheepish grin spreading across his features. His hair was neat and tidy, for once, but unstyled… soft looking and wavy, just the way Cathy liked it. 

"If I may have your attention, please." The vicar cleared his throat, and Cathy felt a thrill of excitement rush through her, leaving her tingling happily. This was it – she was about to make a commitment, for life, for everyone to see. There would be no turning back now. And she didn't want to – this was all she had ever wanted, all she had ever needed. She loved Malcolm, and was ready to pledge her very life to him, however long or short that life might turn out to be.

"Dearly beloved…" The vicar was droning, but Catherine hardly heard a word, until the vicar turned to her and began,

"Now, do you, Catherine Jennifer Eddison, take this man, Malcolm Reed, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death parts you?" Catherine smiled, and clasped her soon-to-be-husband's hands all the tighter.

"I do." She replied simply, not averting her eyes from Malcolm's beautiful grey-blue ones for a single moment. It did not matter that Malcolm had yet to say his part, did not matter that they had not yet taken their full vows, for her, their marriage was already consecrated, in love, the most important thing of all.

*
    Charles "Trip" Tucker, bit his lip as he ploughed through the data retrieved by Malcolm in his final act as armoury officer and chief protector of the Enterprise NX-01. He had been up since the early hours of the morning, fighting for a way around it, a solution, something, but the fact was irrefutable – the Xindi's weaponry was far superior to anything that Starfleet could ever hope to create. And there would be no defence.
Trip shivered. He had seen pictures of the destruction wreaked by the atom bombs dropped on Hiroshima as a youth, and the images had rocked him to his very core. Babies born without limbs, people dying slow and agonising deaths of radiation sickness. Everywhere rubble, death, and dust.
__No! This can't be happening! His mind raged. _I will not let something like that happen to my world, we will not let them destroy and degrade us in such a way!_ He squeezed his eyes shut in complete and utter despair, before opening them again. The data was still there, innocuously spelling out Earth's fate – which at the moment did not seem promising. _This isn't fair!_ Trip whined. _So many people, all that death, the bodies, the blood, the sickness… NO! This can't be happening. I won't LET it happen!_ Trip almost screamed aloud, before taking in a deep, gasping breath, in a rather futile attempt to calm himself. 
"Trip? Having any luck?" Trip whirled around in surprise as Jon's voice brought him thudding back to the real world with a painful bump. Trip glanced up at his friend blearily, and shook his head.
"No. No such luck. Let's face it, they're gonna kick the life outta us." Archer sighed and pulled up a seat next to him, the legs scraping on the floor as he did so. The sound made Trip wince. His head was thumping.
"Aren't you resigning us to the scrap heap a little _too_ soon, Trip?" Jon asked, his grey eyes filled with concern. Trip could understand why – he was usually the optimist of the ship. But now Malcolm was gone the position of chief pessimist was open, and Trip knew that _someone_ had to face the facts. Might as well be him. Trip shrugged defiantly, and motioned to the monitor screen, his eyes blazing with anger as he stood up and began to pace furiously. 
"Look! You know as well as anybody what happened at Hiroshima! We _all_ do! And what about the Third World War – we had weaponry like that then, and it almost destroyed us! And the Xindi's weapons are about ten times as powerful as anything we ever managed to come up with!" Archer sighed, and the sound, so full of tired desperation, made Trip feel, just for a moment, a little bit guilty. But then he was consumed once again by rage and – loathe though he was to admit it – fear. 
"Trip, I - " Archer began, but Trip cut him off, quiet fury permeating ever fibre of his being. 
"Don't you _dare_ say that you're sorry, because if you do, God help me, I _will_ hurt you." Trip threatened, deadly serious. Jon sagged back in his chair. 
"Trip… just _listen_ to me." Jon urged him beseechingly, and Trip leant back on the wall, his arms folded. The message he was giving out was clear: _You had better not be wasting my time. _Archer seemed to read his friend's mind.
"I'll make this quick then, shall I?" He said quietly, his eyes hard and angry. Trip looked away, guilty, knowing what was coming next. "You've pushed _everyone_ who cares about you away, you've let yourself wallow in your own grief and self-pity, and I'm sick of it! Malcolm may be dead, but that doesn't mean it's the end of the world! _You_ are still alive, and mostly it's because of him! In fact, it's a slur on his very memory to be acting like this! Do you truly think this is what Malcolm would have wanted? Well? _Do you?_" Trip turned away from the force of the anger, tears welling in his eyes.
"I don't know!" He shouted. "Alright? First Lizzie, then Malcolm, and now Earth! How much is one soul supposed to be able to take? I feel like I'm drowning, Jon, in grief, in guilt, in the awful blackness of it all!" And then he was being held, gripped in warm arms which promised never to let him go. 
    "It's alright." Jon whispered. "It's alright to cry." And with that, Trip finally broke down, and sobbed, sobbed for the soul of his sister, for the life of his best friend his best friend, and for the souls of the six billion people he had just that day so cruelly consigned to the grave.
*
    A/N: Please tell me what you thought of this chapter. I'm sorry if I got the marriage vows a bit wrong – I haven't been to that many weddings. Also, I realise that I am mentioning Hiroshima and rather depressing issues like that quite a lot – maybe next chapter I'll write in a little bit of humour to raise the tone a little. I also wrote about WW3 because I've always felt that it was a subject which was touched upon, briefly, in First Contact and some of the Enterprise episodes, but that was never really developed that much. If any of you have any ideas or opinions, please let me know – ideas are especially welcome. 
    Oh, and would anyone fancy beta-reading for this and any of my other Enterprise stories? Please? ^_^


	6. Chapter Six: Another World

A/N: Ok, first I must crawl and beg apology. I am SO sorry this has taken so long! I blame Channel 4 for taking so long in getting Season 3 onto terrestrial!Anyway, here we have chapter six, the first part of it written quite a while ago, so apologies for any discrepancies in the storyline and style… this is set just about after the start of Season Three, this is sort of a 'fill-in' chapter before I get to grips with the story again… I have a vague idea where I'm going and I'll tell you this; if you don't like angst, then you _really_ won't like what I've got planned…

Disclaimer: If I did own Enterprise, it would certainly NOT be getting cancelled…

Chapter Six

"No." The single word resonated throughout the room like a death knell. Major Hayes crumpled visibly.

"But, sir!" He began to protest, but was cut off by a sharp glare by Jonathon Archer.

"I said, no. I will _not_ have a MACO in charge of security." He stated firmly, and Hayes pouted childishly.

"You're making a mistake." He said, and Archer raised a cynically amused eyebrow.

"Maybe. But I'm allowed to – I'm the captain. And don't you forget that." Hayes scowled.

"You are allowing your feelings to command your decisions." He said quietly, but Archer was immovable.

"I am making Lieutenant Marcus Chez head of security. If you have a problem with that…?" Hayes shook his head.

"No. Sir." And with that, he turned on his heel, and left the room.

"The cheek of some people…" Archer muttered furiously as soon as the MACO leader was out of earshot. "Didn't even wait for me to dismiss him." Archer sighed, leaning back in his chair. He was in his ready room, taking a brief "rest" from the tension which filled the bridge nowadays, day and night.

"What I wouldn't do to have you back, Malcolm." He murmured, rubbing his tired eyes. Malcolm had been a pain with his scrupulous insistence for "extra yet necessary security measures", but at least he'd got the job done without arguing about it. And he could figure the way out of any situation in the blink of an eye.

"I never left, captain." A sad voice, unheard, murmured. Malcolm shook his head in frustration as he watched Archer sigh and mutter over the MACO's, security, and the Xindi weapons. If _only_ he could find some way to communicate with them... Malcolm paused. Perhaps he _could_ – after all, Captain Archer may not be quite so… closed minded, if he did try to communicate with him the way he had Commander Tucker. Gritting his teeth, he stepped closer to Archer, closed his eyes, and gently eased his way into his once-CO's consciousness.

8

Archer jerked up in his seat, suddenly tense as a whip. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, and he felt as though he had just been struck by lightning – the air about him was electric, and full of… life. It was as though the force of life itself had suddenly decided to make a visitation to Jonathan Archer, captain of the Enterprise. _What's going on?_ He thought, mystified. He had, of course, encountered strange situations during his life as a Starfleet officer, but nothing quite this… unique. Yes, that was definitely it. Unique – it felt as though an entirely new form of consciousness was only just letting itself be known to him.

_Captain…_ Archer shuddered suddenly, involuntarily. The voice, it seemed… familiar, somehow. Captain, you must listen to me…

Archer shuddered suddenly, involuntarily. The voice, it seemed… familiar, somehow. 

"Malcolm?" Archer spoke the word aloud, unable to stop himself.

_Yes._ The voice sounded pleased, but it was full of relief, which Archer did not quite understand.

_Malcolm? But… you died? How can you be here now?_ Archer asked silently. Not in a million years did he expect the voice to respond.

_I am not here, not truly._ The voice replied, and Archer wondered at how the voice seemed so real – as though Malcolm really was right next to him – and yet was, in truth, only a thought, unbidden, within his mind. It stretched the boundaries of all imagination._ I am but a shade of what I once was. I have found, you see, that death is not the void I once held it to be._ Archer frowned, unsure of what to think. Was this voice the product of an overworked and grief-wearied mind? Or was it something… more? In a futile effort to clear his mind, Archer closed his eyes. And then, the world went white.

8

"Malcolm?" Archer breathed, his voice filled with disbelief. He was standing on – well, he wasn't sure if he was standing on anything. All he could see was white, all around him, save for a tiny black speck on the horizon – or at least, what he thought_ was the horizon. _

"No." The voice seemed to come from all around. "Not… not your officer." The voice was cold, harsh, and cynical. It held none of Malcolm's warmth.

"Then who are you?" Archer's voice echoed around him eerily. "…who are you, are you, you, you, you…"

"I am… the Being." The voice answered, and it sounded so tired, so pathetic, that Archer almost felt sorry for it. Almost_ being the operative word._

_"That doesn't answer my question!" Archer shouted into the void. The white was bright, awfully so, and it was getting brighter…_

_"Stop it!" Archer screamed, and all of a sudden the light dimmed. Archer let out a breath of relief._

_"Now," he started shakily, "Tell me who you are."_

_"I am… the Being. I am the… controller of your feeble universe. I am god to you, human." The voice was scathing, harsh. Archer bristled angrily, and he knew the voice could sense it._

_"I bow to no-one." Archer stated firmly, coldly. "No-one."_

_"Really, Jon?" The voice sounded delighted, albeit maliciously so. In the corner of his eye, Archer could see that the black speck was getting steadily larger. "And yet you bow to the void of space, every time an officer of yours is lost to it. And soon, you will bow to the Xindi, if but to save your precious Planet Earth." The voice emphasised those last two words, and Archer shivered. _

_"What – what do you mean?" He asked, slowly. "And what has this to do with Malcolm?"_

_"He… he is still bound to this world, by his mission, his duty… and his kinship to all aboard Enterprise." Archer nodded warily. Whatever had caused this strange hallucination, he didn't know, but he might as well keep calm…_

_"This is no hallucination, Jon." The voice stated seriously, and he started._

_"How – how - ?"_

_"One problem you have, Jon, is that you cannot accept that there is more to something than meets the eye. It has got you into serious problems on several occasions… and got your officer killed." Archer scowled. He was liking this 'Being' less each minute._

_"What do you mean?" He asked angrily, and the voice tutted, as though rebuking a naughty child._

_"Think, man, think; three or fourhundred yearsago your people would have thought the idea of aliens incredulous; they did not even think of it. But… just because you cannot see something, does not mean it is not there." Archer was becoming exasperated._

_"I don't understand what you mean!"_

_"What I mean is; why can you not think on the idea that the dead do not truly leave you? You have seen New Worlds, Jon; there could also be **another **world… where those you have lost go… where they can still watch you… touch you… speak to you…"_

8

The next moment, he was back in his ready room, and the voice, and the presence he had sensed before, were both gone. He sighed, and ran a weary hand through his hair. What he had just seen, heard… he could not say without any doubt that it had not been real… and a part of him, though he would never admit to it, very deep down agreed with what the voice had said. 

8

Malcolm stalked the corridors of _Enterprise_, his teeth gritted in frustration. Hayes… the man could still infuriate him, even in death. Well, he thought, he got in there quick… but at least Archer had put a stop to his ambitions, it wouldn't do to have someone like Hayes in charge of the security…

Why had Archer resisted him? Why couldn't he communicate with anyone on Enterprise? Was he cursed to spend the rest of eternity as a shade, a phantom stalking the corridors of a life he could no longer inhabit?

And as for Cathy… he shook his head. He had been so… different, when he had been with her. But when she had died, a part of him had too, and he had gradually begun to build up walls against the world… would she still wait for him? Would she still _want_ him?

Malcolm smiled wryly at this thought, for a part of him found it morbidly ironic that the dead plagued themselves with the same questions as when they had been alive. It was just the same… yet so much different. He had never imagined _any_ sort of afterlife – he had been far to busy concentration on the present, thank you – let alone one like _this_. It seemed that the Universe had a somewhat strange sense of humour… and he'd just have to deal with it... _any_ way he could.

8

A/N: Rubbish, I know. It will get better. Please review anyway, and if there is anyone still willing to beta...?


	7. Chapter Seven: Of Sinners and Madmen

**A/N:** Hello everybody! I'm back! Sorry for the ridiculously long delay! Hope you all enjoy chapter seven.

**Disclaimer:** What? Me? Own anything? Don't be silly.

**A Reminder:** We're still set just at the start of the Xindi arc... blimey, did I start writing this that long ago! Now get on and read!

**Chapter Seven**

The next day tensions on Enterprise at last reached breaking point, in more ways than one, and Archer for one was oddly relieved. It would not do for the tensions that had built up over the past few weeks to last forever, putting a constant strain on the ship and her crew. At least this way… they could not grieve forever. Now was the time for Malcolm to be put out of mind, remembered fondly by his friends in sparing moments, but nothing more. In a way, this death, this acceptance of his absence, was worse than the first. It was at this point that he would die in the hearts of his crewmates.

On the other side of the boundary of life, Malcolm Reed still haunted his old life, a part of it yet never truly belonging. And to make this existence worse for him, he had seen nor sensed no more of Cathy.

But Fate was not one to let things rest in such an unsatisfactory state of affairs.

So tensions broke – in a rather explosive manner. Let's just say that it involved a Klingon cruiser, a firefight, a security alert, and something of a lack of restraint on the part of a certain engineer. The MACO's were in heaven.

As soon as the alarm went, Malcolm Reed was on his feet and reaching for a phase pistol – but his hand passed straight through the storage locker. Cursing silently, he made his way for the bridge, slipping into a turbolift just as Commander Tucker and Hoshi Sato did the same. The two stood apart, looking slightly award, and Malcolm smiled sadly. He wished he could talk to them.

After a moment Hoshi broke the silence.

"It's been one month, today." Trip looked up, and for a moment Malcolm glimpsed the dark circles under his eyes, and winced.

"What?"

"One month. Since... since his death." There was silence, broken only by a brief exclamation from the third member of the turbolift which the other two did not hear. Trip shuffled uncomfortably, avoiding Hoshi's gaze. The ship shook slightly, giving Trip a convenient way out of a conversation which he certainly didn't want to have.

"This turbolift had better hurry up..." Trip looked away, and didn't see the expression on Hoshi's face, but Malcolm did – and as the doors to the turbolift _swooshed_ open he leant forward, whispering in her ear words that not even the famous linguist would pick up.

"Courage, Hoshi." The woman looked up for a moment, frowning, as though she was trying desperately to remember something but failing miserably. She shook her head, and stepped out onto the bridge. It was just her imagination.

888

Major Hayes was seated at tactical, a thing which both Trip and Malcolm noted with bitter smiles. _Damn him,_ they both thought, _he looks smug._

And there, hanging in space on the viewscreen, was the ugliest, biggest Klingon war-bird Malcolm had ever set eyes on. And then, as Captain Archer rose from his chair, he looked up – and their gazes met just for a moment. Archer frowned at him, and Malcolm froze, so used to being invisible that to suddenly be seen seemed strange and wrong... but surely Archer was just looking at someone behind him –

The Klingon ship fired once more, and Archer tore his gaze away, instead turning to Hayes, and Malcolm found his hope turning to abject jealousy. It was hardly fair, was it, that _he_, who had always been so careful in honouring his rules, his duty, should die when a man like Hayes was still alive. He felt a welling up of hatred, of righteous anger, that he had never been able to feel whilst alive, when emotions were constricted to a physical body. He stepped towards Hayes, not thinking –

But then he remembered Cathy's oh-so-sad face, and stopped, shocked at the extent of his own feelings. The bridge shook around him, but he paid it no heed. It couldn't hurt him, anyway. Not anymore. A sudden explosion drew him from his thoughts and he looked up, horrified to see a ball of flame – all that remained of the Klingon bird-of-prey – blossoming on the viewscreen. Both he, Trip, and Archer whirled around to Hayes, sitting at the tactical post, his expression smugger than ever.

"I told you to _knock out their weapons_, Hayes, not _destroy_ them!" Archer's anger was palpable, but not as much as Trip's when Hayes gave his careless response.

"It was an accident. I mis-calculated. No big worry, is there? Just means there's one less Klingon war-bird out there to attack us."

"There were _fifty people on that ship, dammit!_" Trip stepped towards the man, his fists balled, but Archer – and Malcolm too, but no-one noticed _him_ – stepped between the two, his face creased in concern. Trip stepped back, breathing deeply, and Malcolm knew that it wasn't the death of the Klingons that Trip was worried about – he didn't give a flying fig about anyone who threatened his precious engines – but rather the fact that it had been Hayes who had fired the deadly shot.

"Malcolm wouldn't have made that mistake." Trip spat, pulling his arm from Archer's grasp. Hayes made no response, but his smug expression did not fade. Archer nodded to Hayes, before turning to Trip.

"C'mon. Let's go to my ready room." Archer led Trip away, but for once Malcolm did not follow him. This was one conversation that should remain private even from ghosts. Instead, he moved over to the tactical station, and leant over Hayes. Malcolm swallowed as he observed the readout. There had been nothing wrong with the targeting scanners, and the Klingon war-bird had had a perfectly ordinary configuration. Its destruction had been no accident.

As Archer stepped off the bridge the rest of the crew let out a sigh of relief – a sigh it seemed they had been holding in since the moment of Malcolm's death. Hoshi glanced over at Travis, and smiled shakily. The young ensign smiled back. It was time to get on with life.

And that was alright. Malcolm wanted them to do exactly that. But Hayes – he smiled mischievously – Hayes would not get away so easily. He leant over, whispering into the Major's ear.

"Fine shooting, my dear Hayes..."

Major Hayes flinched, and looked around wildly for the source of the voice he thought he had just heard. Malcolm laughed.

888

"Trip." Archer sat down behind his desk, looking up at his long-time friend and engineer. "Take a seat." The southerner complied, and when he did so it was more of a collapse onto the chair than anything else. Trip, more than any of them, was exhausted by grief.

"I'm sorry, Cap'n." He said quietly, but his head was bowed and Archer saw that he avoided meeting his gaze.

"Yes." Archer said quietly. "So am I." Trip looked up at this, and their eyes met – there was no accusation in his captain's eyes, only understanding and support. They sat in silence for a moment, Trip drinking in some of the strength offered in those eyes and Archer realising for the first time exactly what hell his friend had found himself in. After all, Malcolm's death had in part been caused by the problems with the Suliban cell ship – problems that Trip would have blamed himself for not finding a way to fix. He would have beaten himself up over it had it been any crewmember, but the fact that it was Reed, Trip's closest companion, who had died...

_But has he?_ The thought, unbidden, pushed in on Archer's thoughts, elbowing out all reason or logic, and the memories of the strange white light and the voices, Malcolm's voice and that of the 'being', came flooding back to him. He leant forward, about to tell Trip everything – Trip would understand, he wouldn't scoff or laugh – when the comm panel by his hand bleeped.

"You're needed on the bridge, Captain. T'Pol's found something she thinks you should see." It was Hoshi. Archer leant back, the fever vanishing. He rose, nodding for Trip to precede him. As he stepped out onto the bridge he glanced back ruefully.

Trip would have thought him a madman anyway.

888

Back on Earth, a family was finally picking up its pieces and putting itself back together after the worst blow possible. It had been Stuart's idea – to salve the pain of grief with the greatest joy possible. And so it was that, a month after losing his son, Stuart Reed led his daughter up the aisle and into the arms of her waiting groom and wedlock.

And, as she spoke the fateful 'I do', Stuart found his mind wandering back to another wedding, in a time that seemed so long ago. He had been against his son's marriage – he had been against anything to do with Starfleet altogether – but standing in the church that day he felt he would have given anything, even happily accepted his son's choice of beau and career, to have him standing with Madeline today. And, whilst it was his own right as the bride's father, he could not help but feel that it should have been _Malcolm_, not he, who gave Madeline away.

But then, as the congregation raised their hymnbooks for one last rendition of _I Vow to Thee, My Country_, he was sure he heard in his ear an all-too familiar, clipped baritone. And Stuart Reed, though he had never been a man of faith nor one for such childish fancies, believed with all his soul that his son was with him, and that he had forgiven him.

And so he was, and so he had.

888

**A/N:** Please review, you know I love them so!


	8. Chapter Eight: Superman? !

**A/N:** Thanks to **The Libran Iniquity**, **volley**, and **General Kunama** for their lovely reviews. Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** Zilch.

**Chapter Eight**

Six months had passed since the death of Malcolm Reed, and no one talked about him any more, except perhaps with a wistful tone and a knowing smile. The Xindi mission had continued, and as _Enterprise_ surged through the Expanse all thoughts of happier days were lost. The bitterest thing of all was the fact that the scans which had cost Malcolm his life had turned out to be nothing more than a ruse, a decoy to set the brave crew of the Earth starship off track. It was Trip that felt this hardest of all, but soon enough even his grief began to fade, replaced by nothing more than memories. And Captain Archer, silently fearing that his sanity was at stake, pushed all thoughts of his mysterious encounter with his dead crewman and the being from the "other side" to the very innermost recesses of his mind.

And Malcolm Reed still hovered on the strange border between alive and dead.

"You know, this afterlife lark is getting a tad boring." He commented to Trip one day as they both sat in the engineer's quarters. Trip, of course, did not respond, and Malcolm sighed. "Damn rude to keep ignoring me, Trip." He said, but still the engineer did not raise his eyes from his PADD. Malcolm leant over, and let out a short bark of laughter as he realised what it was. "_The Adventures of Superman_, Trip? Goodness, you Americans have bad taste."

If he had stopped to think about it, he would probably have thought it vaguely disturbing that he spent so much time around Trip, but he didn't. He was too busy trying to keep a hold of what little reason he still had left after all the blows of the past few months. Dying was bad enough, but being stuck in the world of the living, unable to be heard, unable to be seen? And what was even worse was the fact that he knew that somewhere, in _an_other world, Cathy was waiting for him.

"Hey, handsome." A teasing voice spoke up and he turned, well used to Cathy's on-off appearances by now. She too was standing by Trip's shoulder, looking across the hapless engineer who had no idea that there were two ghosts holding a conversation across his head.

"Catherine." Malcolm responded with a smile, before nodding towards Trip. "Or was it to our southerner here that you referred that remark?"

Catherine laughed, but as always it was a sound that only seemed half-there, like a comm link with a weak and fading signal. These stolen moments, half glimpses every few weeks, had become almost all that Malcolm lived for... or rather, died for.

"I don't know." She said, reaching over and laying an un-felt hand on the mortal man's head. "He's kind of cute."

"He's a bloody pain." Malcolm shot back, smiling wryly as Trip, yawning, put aside his PADD and lay down on his bed. "And he still reads comics, for heavens sake."

"Better than you, then! I remember when we were first married you used to read weapons reports in bed!" Catherine eyed the drowsy engineer before looking back up at Malcolm and shaking her head. "Did absolutely _nothing_ for my woman's ego, I must say."

"And what about my ego?" Malcolm retorted, his eyebrows raised. "You beat me to that position on the _Sovereign_. If you'd still been alive you'd have got the position on _Enterprise_ ahead of me, I'm sure."

It may seem to us, living beings that we are, that to speak of another person's death in such a way is rather insensitive. But Cathy and Malcolm were on the same playing field, as it were; they had both died and were both confident in their knowledge of the afterlife, though Malcolm was beginning to find his spell in purgatory somewhat trying.

"Well," Catherine drew away, briefly patting Trip – who was by now fast asleep and snoring loudly – on the arm. "I'd best be going."

"Yes." Malcolm nodded sadly, and she slowly faded from view. Malcolm turned away from where she had been standing and looked down at the sleeping Trip with a quiet smile. "Pleasant dreams, Commander."

And he turned and walked out of the room.

888

"So, it's a pre-warp culture?" Archer frowned at the read-outs on the viewscreen, accompanied by a view of a slowly rotating reddish planet, and T'Pol nodded coolly.

"The dominant species appear to be humanoid." She stated, her ever-unflappable gaze upon her own monitor. "The atmosphere is similar to Earth's own." She paused. "It is highly unlikely that such a planet would evolve within the disturbances in the Expanse."

Archer turned and looked his science officer straight in the face.

"You mean the existence of this planet _preceded_ the Expanse?" T'Pol cocked her head to one side.

"It would certainly correlate with the evidence we have discovered to show that the disturbances within this area of space are manufactured rather than natural occurrences."

"I agree, sir." Lieutenant Chez, Malcolm's replacement, spoke up hesitantly. Archer turned to him and nodded, glad that the younger man was finally working up the confidence to put his own opinion forward. It had been hard for him, Archer thought, to replace his own commanding officer.

"Anything else?" He asked, sensing that behind the man's nervous agreement there was something more he wished to add. Marcus Chez looked relieved that he did not have to volunteer the information.

"Well, sir, there are signs of disturbance down on the surface, and of weapons use similar to those used in Earth's First World War." He paused, looking hesitant. "I'd suggest taking a security detail with you if you plan to go down there."

Archer nodded, thinking for a moment just how like Malcolm such a suggestion was. And there, standing at the side of the bridge, unseen by all, the ghost of that very same man grinned.

"Atta boy, Chez." He said. "Good man."

888

The _Enterprise_ crew materialised into the midst of a wasteland. Trip looked round, eyeing the sparse, dry vegetation and deep bomb craters with wry distaste.

"Cheerful place, ain' it?" He remarked. Malcolm, who was as ever, unseen within their midst, silently agreed with them. As he had learned over the past six months, ghosts could not be transported as living bodies could – but he could go anywhere he willed with but a small effort of thought. He had willed himself with the away team, and there he was.

There were six living people on the away team, not counting their unseen and unnoticed ghostly member. Hoshi (in case they bumped into any locals, since the UT was struggling with the more difficult subjugations of the language), Trip (Archer couldn't keep him away from the transporter pad), the Captain, Mayweather (who seemed to be doing very little on the away mission except making cheeky asides to Hoshi), and Lieutenant Marcus Chez with a concealed phase pistol and an extremely burly MACO by his side. Chez had attempted to take a much larger firearm but Archer, much to Reed's amusement, had forbade him. "We don't want to go in _looking_ for a fight, Lieutenant." He'd said, and Malcolm had paused for a moment, shocked because it sounded just like something Archer would have said to _him_, Malcolm Reed.

A sudden movement to port – _west_, man, he thought, you're on land now – caught Malcolm's eye and he turned, squinting against the setting sun. And there it was again – a slight disturbance, marked by a brief rising in the dust. People. And they did not seem to be too keen to advertise their presence. Malcolm looked to Chez, biting his lip, but no, the man hadn't seen anything – damn him, he was admiring a bloody bird, for heaven's sake!

"Chez!" he hissed. "Open your eyes, for goodness sake, man! Have you forgotten _everything_ they taught you in basic training?" But Chez, of course, heard nothing. Mayweather and Hoshi had headed off together, gazing out across the land, which in the blood-red sunset looked eerily beautiful. Trip and Archer were yet again further away, both looking grateful for a quiet moment and drinking in every detail of the alien world. The MACO had wandered off somewhere, Reed couldn't see him – typical of anyone trained by Hayes. It was a security officer's nightmare.

Just then the hidden watchers stirred, rising up, and this time Chez _did_ notice them, but it was too late – they had already pulled their guns up and shot... straight towards Commander Tucker and the Captain.

And for that moment - a moment which seemed to stretch on to eternity - Malcolm forgot he was a ghost and did the only thing his instincts and training could tell him to do. He sprinted, as fast as he could, to place himself between the two officers and the fast approaching bullets.

888

**A/N:** Please tell me what you think!


	9. Chapter Nine: The Lord Is My Shepherd

**A/N:** Hello! Here it is... the last chapter – but I do have an epilogue waiting in the wings! First of all, to my wonderful reviewers:

The Libran Iniquity: Well, you'll have to wait and find out... By the way, I think at one point I asked you for your help with beta-ing, I'm sorry for not actually getting back to you! Here it is, anyway.

volley: I love cliff-hangers... though only when I'm the one writing them and I know what happens next! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

firebirdgirl (x 6!): Wow, that's a lotta reviews in a very short time! Glad to see a new reader – happy reading!

Triptacular: What can I say, I'm a psychic! That is creepy... Thanks for the book suggestion, I'll check it out. I've only just realised how similar this is to the film "Ghost", having had my Mum describe the film to me. And there are serious Narnia undertones in this chapter! Thanks for the reviews – love the pen-name!

General Kunama: Well, you know me; I'm just as cruel to my readers as I am to my borrowed characters! Thanks for reviewing!

Kaleidoscope Cat: (Have I spelt the name right!) Well, here you are – the penultimate chapter! (sobs)

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed over the course of this story... now get on reading!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Sorry...

**Chapter Nine**

Malcolm Reed felt himself falling through nothingness as he threw himself into the paths of the bullets, and Trip Tucker stared as his dead friend suddenly reappeared in front of him. And then for Malcolm, everything turned white.

_Lieutenant..._ A voice, both silent and intolerably loud, entered his ears from all around. He looked up, and to the side, for the source of the voice, but could see nothing but white, stretching on and out into infinity.

"Who's there?" He asked, his voice sounding weak and pale in comparison to the strange voice he had just heard. Malcolm bit his lip. So was this it, then? Was he truly dead? Had he been too late to stop the bullets – or had they gone straight through his ghostly form, killing Trip and the Captain anyway? Was he soon to have company?

_Hello, Lieutenant. I have been waiting for you. I am the Being. Your Captain has already spoken with one of my kin, after you tried to contact him, placing him closer to the edge of life than was safe. That kinsman is not the one your Captain should ever have come into contact with, Lieutenant... Malcolm._

"I didn't mean to put him into any danger." Malcolm said, suddenly feeling truly regretful in the presence of this voice, and then all at once feeling incredibly honest. "I was afraid."

_I know._ The voice was gentler now. _You have clung steadfastly to life, young man. You have caused no small amount of trouble on the Other Side, especially with Catherine awaiting your return._ Malcolm stared – though to what he was staring he did not know.

"How do you know about Cathy? And what do you mean by... return?"

_I know all things._ The voice said. _All that was, all that is, and all that will be. And as for returning: Cathy is waiting for you at the place from which we all come, and to which we all must return in the end, save for those who go to somewhere else entirely. What you mortals call 'life' is just the bit in between._ There was a slight edge of wry humour in the Being's voice, and Malcolm found himself smiling despite himself. But then he closed his eyes and saw an image of those bullets speeding towards his friends, and the smile instantly slipped.

"My friends." He said. "What is - "

_All in its own time, Malcolm. I was getting there._

"But we don't _have_ time to waste! They may be dying _right now_!" Malcolm exclaimed angrily, and the light in the place dimmed, ever so slightly. The voice spoke to him, quieter, now, more soothing.

_Hush._ The voice said, and Malcolm felt like a little child. _Time has no meaning here – this place is more powerful by far than your diluted world. _The voice paused. _You long for a second chance at life, do you not, Malcolm Reed?_

"Yes," Malcolm said, after a silence. "I do." He said the words, knowing as he spoke them that he was committing the ultimate betrayal of both Cathy and the voice.

_Then you shall have it._ The voice said, sounding sadder than Malcolm could imagine anything sounding. _I am sorry._

Then, with a rush of sound and colour, Malcolm was thrown back into the real world. He wondered for a moment why the voice had apologised, but then he remembered, just before something hard and painful hit him in the chest, that he had just placed himself in the path of two approaching bullets.

"Bugger." He said.

888

"Jesus Christ!" Trip exclaimed as the man named Malcolm Reed suddenly appeared before him, running, his face a grim mask of concentration. He stepped forward in confusion, and then, horror as two bullets slammed into the moving form of the recently-reincarnated armoury officer. He collapsed, his face suddenly very white and blood blossoming from his chest. Trip fell to his knees, staring into a face he had thought he would never again see in complete amazement. "_Malcolm?_"

Trip was dimly aware of Archer standing by his shoulder, also staring down in bafflement, and of a whizz of gunfire as the MACO and Lieutenant Chez finally earnt their wages and dealt with the alien threat, but his concentration was fixed on his friend, who was growing paler by the second. He coughed, spluttering blood.

"Trip," he said weakly, smiling at the expression on the poor engineer's face. "Surprised to see me?"

"A – a little." Trip said, averting his gaze from Malcolm's uniform front, which was fast becoming drenched with his precious blood. Trip noticed with a shudder that the uniform was singed, much as it had been when Malcolm had died the last time...

Hang on. Trip paused, shaking his head. This wasn't _possible_... and anyway, he was not going to let Malcolm slip away again, whatever the science behind his sudden reappearance was. Malcolm gave another shuddering cough, and Trip placed his arms around his shoulders, hoisting him up.

"Hang in there, Malcolm. We'll get you back to _Enterprise_ soon as possible." Trip glanced up, and now both Hoshi and Travis were standing over Malcolm too. Travis silently placed his arm around Hoshi. Trip looked into Archer's face for support, but his expression was grave. Trip tightened his jaw. To hell with their pessimism!

"Hang in there?" Malcolm half-laughed, half-coughed. "I've been 'hanging in there' for the last six bloody months, Trip Tucker! You just... didn't see me..." He started to close his eyes but then, with what seemed like an enormous effort, opened them again. "A sort of... afterlife... purgatory... I was given a second chance..." Then he gazed up, away from Trip, and nodded slowly. "A few more minutes." He murmured to a person unseen. "Give me that, at least."

Whoever he was talking to must have acquiesced to his request, for in the next moment Trip watched his strength suddenly seem to return. Malcolm looked up at him with fresh lucidity. The two held the moment, knowing that it was to be their last together for a very long time.

"I don't understand." Trip said eventually, quietly. Malcolm smiled gently.

"You will." He said simply. "One day." Then he looked away from Trip, and settled his gaze on Travis and Hoshi. He smirked. "Should have seen that one coming." He said jovially, though his breath was now coming in ragged gasps. "I'm glad you're together. Look after her." He added, looking straight at Travis. Then he looked to Archer. "Captain." He said, and that was all he said. In that single word he conveyed all he had ever wanted to say to the man – of his respect, loyalty, and love for his commanding officer. Love is not too strong a word to use in place of 'fondness' at the point of death.

Malcolm lifted his head slightly, and smirked once more as he caught sight of Chez, who was looking blatantly embarrassed at his slip-up.

"Be more careful next time, alright?" Malcolm said. "I won't be here to fix it, next time." Chez nodded, looking very solemn, and a grin cracked across Malcolm's face. "And congratulations on your promotion."

And with that, Malcolm Reed died.

888

Once more he was surrounded by rushing light, and once more he reached the fork in the ways, but he did not fear the darker way, for he could already feel the pull of the brighter, more beautiful tunnel. He felt his soul slowing, and within a moment he was standing in a grassy park he knew well. It had been here – or in a place very much like this – that he had first proposed to Cathy. But it was far more green, far more beautiful, than the original had been. He glanced down at himself and saw his body free of wounds, free of the scars of his life – his time 'in between'. A voice suddenly spoke to him from behind.

"Hey, handsome." Malcolm turned, feeling young again. And, with an exclamation of joy, he embraced his wife.

888

Trip stared at the place where his friend had lain just a moment before. Malcolm had vanished, leaving nothing behind him but the blood that was on Trip's hands and two bullets lying in the grass – two bullets which had been meant for _his_ chest, Trip realised. He felt a sudden welling up of grief in his throat, and he looked away so that the others would not see his tears. But then he stopped, realising that it was a slur on Malcolm's memory and an insult of his sacrifice – his twice-made sacrifice – to hide those tears. He stood up.

"He's gone." He said. It was time to get on with life, without Malcolm.

But perhaps in death...

888

**A/N:** Now just the epilogue, and we're done! Please tell me what you thought!


	10. Epilogue: Amen

**A/N:** Hello for the final time in this story! Thankyou to everyone who reviewed, I still can't believe you all like it enough to review! A few notes to you wonderful, wonderful people:

volley: Sorry! Thanks for all your reviews!

Triptacular: What can I say but thankyou? Thankyou!

firebirdgirl: Thankyou for your many reviews! Happy reading...

General Kunama: Hehe, Malcolm is great! Thanks for your review. Hope you enjoy the epilogue!

The Libran Iniquity: Here you go! Hope it isn't too sad...

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I'm not even old enough to own a car, let alone Star Trek...

**Epilogue**

Captain Charles Tucker was the last of the original _Enterprise_ seven to take the journey through that strange and wonderful tunnel. He had outlasted Captain Archer – who had been fatally wounded on an away mission several years after Malcolm's death – and had been cut to the quick as T'Pol, the only woman he had ever truly loved, was reported missing presumed dead, after her ship, the _Excalibur_, had entered uncharted territory past the Delphic Expanse and never returned.

Trip had been placed in command of _Enterprise_, and had watched as a whole new generation replaced the original bridge crew before his very eyes. Travis and Hoshi had married, and when Hoshi fell pregnant with their first child had transferred to the Starfleet base in Brazil, where Hoshi took up teaching once again. But Travis, unable to resist the call of the stars, had gone on "one last trip" with his brother's cargo ship, which was attacked half-way through its run by Orion raiders. Travis died heroically defending his brother's children from the boarding party. His brother escaped, and later told Hoshi of her husband's bravery. Hoshi, comforted by her knowledge of the time which comes after death, had re-married, had two more children, and later died peacefully in her sleep at the age of fifty-seven. She was met on the 'other side' by a joyous Porthos and a teary-eyed Travis.

And as for Phlox, the fine doctor died quite cheerfully at the age of forty (quite advanced for a Denobulan) in his family home with his three wives and seventeen children by his side. Being a doctor he knew that all things had their end, and was happy knowing that in his lifetime he had saved the lives of at least fifty other people, and that those he had been unable to save he would soon meet again.

And now Charles Tucker stood, alone, at the age of sixty-three, among the rubble of the once-shining _Enterprise_ bridge, as the United Federation of Planets stood on the brink of an interstellar war with the Romulan Empire.

"Sir, vital systems are failing!" A young ensign called out from her position at the head of the bridge. Trip gazed at the image on the viewscreen, through which their attacker – a darned ugly Romulan bird-o'-prey – could be seen. He gave a lopsided grin and gripped the ensign's shoulder. They were the only two left on the bridge, – hell, the entire _ship_ – the rest having been rescued by a Vulcan science vessel before she had been forced to retreat. Trip had maintained that a captain should go down with his ship, and the ensign had insisted upon remaining with her captain.

"Y'know, if I were ten years younger..." Trip grinned at the ensign, who cocked an eyebrow up at him.

"Only ten?" She asked cockily, causing Trip to laugh properly for perhaps the first time since the whole torrid Romulan affair had begun. Her eyes met his and they both knew that there was no reason to be afraid. Trip drew in a breath, and recalled a time when he had been chief engineer of the very ship on which he was standing now. There would be other _Enterprise_'s, but he doubted they would ever be headed by a captain as proud as he was in that moment.

"How 'bout goin' out with a bang, Ensign?" He drawled, and the ensign grinned back.

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He had greeted them all. He had guided Archer through the strange, bright valley, and with a slight smile welcomed a highly sceptical T'Pol. It had been with a sad sigh that he had shook hands with Travis, for he had still been young to leave his wife behind, and he had sighed even more when a young girl ran towards him with the word "uncle" on her lips. She looked every inch her mother.

Next he had embraced Hoshi, but had quickly stepped aside for Travis to take her as his rightful bride once again. Then Phlox had arrived, grinning broadly and – at this point he had grimaced slightly – been happily reunited with his bat.

Major Hayes was still awaiting the jury's verdict.

And now their group was to be complete.

Malcolm Reed stood up with a smile as a familiar blonde-haired figure appeared in the afterlife.

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Trip gazed across the green landscape with a vague expression of distaste.

"Kinda boring, isn't it?" He said to no-one in particular, and so was quite surprised when a clipped British voice replied;

"Quite. No pleasing you, is there, Mr Tucker?"

Trip turned round with a smile to see a very old friend standing by his side.

"Thought you'd be first to meet me, Malcolm. I'm glad you are." And as he spoke, Trip caught a glimpse in the far distance of his ensign, his loyal-unto-the-end ensign, being greeted by her friends and family. He smiled. Malcolm followed his gaze, then tugged gently on his sleeve.

"Look over there." He told him, but it was at that moment that Trip noticed something very strange about his friend.

"You look... young. Younger than you ever did on _Enterprise_."

Malcolm nodded, smirking ever so slightly – a smirk, Trip noted, that had not changed one jot.

"Of course." Malcolm said, nodding down at Trip's hands. "Look at yourself."

Trip looked down. He grinned.

"Smooth as a baby's bottom, hey, Mal?" He paused. "So how – excuse the expression – the hell does that work?" Malcolm raised an eyebrow, weighing his answer carefully.

"We are placed at the age in which we were the happiest. Mine was when I first met Cathy, yours was those few weeks when you and T'Pol were truly together... Hoshi has trouble, for she was just as happy with Travis as she later was with Andrew." Malcolm paused, then pointed to a small group of people standing a short way off beneath the shade of an oak tree with a slightly wry smile. "They're all three over there. Andrew and Travis get on surprisingly well." Trip nodded, his eyebrows raised, before asking;

"So is this... it? The afterlife? A giant horse-field 'cept without the darn horses?" Malcolm laughed, and only when he had recovered sufficiently did he cock his eyebrow in an expression of mock offence.

"There really is no pleasing you, Trip Tucker! And no – this isn't all there is." He smiled enigmatically. "This is just the entrance hall... inside there are rooms powered by engines of the like that you could never dream of." Malcolm held Trip's gaze for a moment, and the one-time engineer was sure that his friend was trying to tell him something, but Trip could not for the life of him grasp what it was. He gave up and clapped his hands together eagerly.

"Then what are we waiting for? Are the others here?" Trip stopped suddenly, as something Malcolm had said a few moments earlier finally hit him. "And who on earth is Cathy?"

Malcolm's face split into a grin, and he slapped Trip on the back, leading him away from the entrance to that strange and wonderful land.

"There's no rush, Trip." He said. "We've got all the time in the world."

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**A/N:** Please tell me what you think!


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